


Resurrection

by awkward_mushroom



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes's Trigger Words, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, HYDRA are assholes, Hydra (Marvel), I accidentally wrote 9k words of torture im so sorry, I don't know what I'm doing, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Like a lot of torture, Little Women References, Memory Suppressing Machine | The Chair (Marvel), Multi, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE TONY, NOT Bucky/OFC, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Red Room (Marvel), Road Trips, Suicide Attempt, Time Skips, Torture, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, but its like rly quick, the fluff doesn't last for long my dudes, ugh idk just read it I guess, will start going through mcu timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkward_mushroom/pseuds/awkward_mushroom
Summary: 'I remember when they first brought it in.Back when it was a he.'The Ghost has been completing missions for Hydra since 1919, and she knew she was Hydra's most prized asset. But then in 1945 they brought in a new asset, who they called the Winter Soldier. And suddenly she was second best. Suddenly she was forgotten about.And the more missions they complete together, the blurrier everything becomes.Because Hydra are the good guys.Right?Will NOT be Bucky/OFC.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Original Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 22





	1. From He to an It

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! First of all thanks for checking out my fic!  
> just a quick fyi that i've only tagged for stuff in chapters i've published. I will update the tags as I update this story!!
> 
> hope u like it!!

I remember when they brought _it_ in.

I was sitting in the room, reading. Always reading. If I wasn’t assassinating or destabilising I was reading. Reading mission files, Handler’s reports, instruction manuals, ingredients lists on the back of soup cans.

But back then _it_ wasn’t an it, but a he. The first time I _heard_ him, he was screaming. Getting louder. And louder. And louder. Then the sound of thumping, and a noise like a limp body being dragged across a cement floor. Getting quieter. And quieter again. I stared lasers through the steel door as if I could see, by sheer force of will, who this new person was. What had changed.

Because something had. I could feel it in the air. Hear it in the excited babble of scientists as they ran past the door.

I didn’t know whether this change was good or not.

I sat in the room for 76 minutes, staring at the word ‘however’, until someone came and retrieved me.

‘Asset: follow, and keep quiet.’ Handler #3 said. And I did.

Then I _saw_ him for the first time. He was screaming again. Strapped down on an operating table. His left arm a mangle of flesh and muscle and bone.

Zola looked predatory.

‘Sit.’ Handler #3 said. I sat.

‘Observe.’ Handler #3 said. I observed.

I observed as they used a bone saw to hack off the remainder of his arm. I observed as they smiled their triumphant smiles at him. I observed as he screamed and cried and threatened. Threatened that he will _break out of these fucking chains and beat all of you asses one by one_ and _how Captain America will come and kill every single one of you and then we’ll burn this godforsaken ass-crack of a place to hell._

That was interesting. Captain America was something of a taboo word in Hydra. They didn’t like admitting that they had been severely disadvantaged in the war since he was created. Also he had spoken in English, a language I hadn’t heard inside the facility for all the time I spent here.

It was jarring.

Then I recognised who this prisoner was, and why all the scientists were so excited about his presence. It was _James Buchanan Barnes_. I knew his file. Known fighting partner and close friend of Captain America. Member of the Howling Commandos.

Decidedly and distinctly _American_ and _anti-Hydra_.

Probably explains why he was yelling so loud.

The scientists were all wearing ear plugs. Except Zola. Presumably because he wanted actual feedback from whatever Zola was doing to him. Or Subject 3255, given that that was what all the scientists were calling him.

Must be his new designation.

Then he saw me for the first time. Which was eventful.

First his eyes went wider. Then his face did something: his forehead scrunched, his mouth dropped open and he yelled, through multiple screams of agony, ‘You _sick fucks!_ You have a (scream) _kid_ here? What the (scream) hell are you _doing to her?_ ’ Then he kept screaming.

11 scientists and 22 eyeballs immediately looked at me. Then back at Subject 3255. Then back to me.

This was a test. I had to pass.

So I looked straight ahead. Straight at Subject 3255. And didn’t react.

It’s not like this was news to me. I knew I looked like a slightly underfed 14 year old caucasian female. But I wasn’t 14.

In total, I was approximately 32 years old. I had been completing missions for Department X, then after it dissolved and became Hydra, for approximately 26 years, with limited amounts of time cryogenically frozen in between some missions.

Which made me wonder why they needed this new Subject.

Was I not good enough? Not efficient enough? Not successful enough?

My purpose was to kill, which meant some people’s purpose was to die. Was this to be my new purpose? To become the killed so Subject 3255 could be the killer?

The scientists went back to dissecting their new prisoner (their new _asset?_ ). 

Hours passed. He screamed and cried and threatened and _begged_. But eventually Zola received all the baseline levels he wanted. Heart rate. Heart rate under stress. Regenerative factor. Pain tolerance. Strength.

Handler #3 told me to return to the room and finish planning for the next mission.

I didn’t want to. I wanted to see what they were going to do to Subject 3255 next. I wanted to know what their end game was with him.

But then I looked at Subject 3255 and decided I didn’t want any of that to happen to me.

I went to the room.

***

Three missions later, I saw Subject 3255 again.

He was less of a _he_ and more of an _it_.

It wasn’t difficult to theorise why. His screams had echoed throughout the facility for weeks, going silent for a few hours before they started up again.

I briefly considered killing him so that I could get a full night of rest. But I guessed that the optimal level of functioning achieved from a full 8 hours of sleep would not counter the severe punishment the scientists would inflict.

And if they had proved anything over the past few weeks, it was that they would not hesitate to inflict punishment.

I was tasked with observation and given permission to act with aggression if he demonstrated defiance.

The scientists were excited. Again. They were setting up a new machine. A new way of inducing compliance. A new _weapon_. To be used on Subject 3255.

Because whatever they were trying to do to him, it was failing.

When they had finished, they collected Subject 3255 and took him into the next room.

I was ordered to follow. I followed.

It was a chair. The Chair. A chair with machinery extending in a claw shaped structure over where the Subject’s head was.

Handler #3 directed me to a chair directly in front of Subject 3255. He told me to observe.

We looked at each other. He looked terrified, confused. Angry.

_She looked impassive, but wary._

Then they turned the machine on.

With a grinding, whirring sound the claw descended over the Subject’s head, latching on to his temples, forehead and base of the head.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the _noise_ started. A horrible grating, crackling sound as The Chair showed what a valuable weapon it truly was. Electricity went from the prongs of the claw directly into Subject 3255’s _brain_.

He convulsed. Screamed until I _heard_ his vocal cords tear. Clenched his teeth so tightly I was sure he had cracked a tooth. Blood spurted from his mouth and sprayed his dirty clothes. The smell of burning skin, hair, and body odour made the dirty room feel confined and cloying.

It was horrifying.

The Chair powered down. The room became silent, except for the ragged breaths from Subject 3255, occasionally moaning or muttering to himself, before he took a deep breath in spat out a pink glob of blood and flesh.

It was his tongue.

Zola tutted and ordered someone to note that ‘We must give him something to bite down on next time.’ He then approached the Subject sitting in the Chair, and asked him some questions.

‘What is your designation?’ He practically purred.

‘What the… what’s going on… who’re you?’

What had the Chair done to him? Scrambled his mind? Altered his memories? _Erased_ those memories?

‘Tell me your designation or this girl will die.’

The cold barrel of a gun was placed against my temple by Handler #3. I had never been on this end of a gun in my life. I sat still. I wasn’t afraid, they wouldn’t shoot their most prized weapon.

(Was I still their most prized weapon?)

_My purpose was to…_

‘Um, I don’t… I don’t know? I don’t know okay?’ His voice grew higher, more frantic. They were going to shoot me. They were. I could feel it in the rising tension of the room, the way Zola looked at Handler #3, the way Handler #3’s breathing changed, the way he shifted his grip on the trigger.

Silently, slowly, my fingers formed a three from where my hand was dangling by my side behind Zola’s back.

Subject 3255’s eyes zeroed in on the gesture. His face was manic, blood dried in his scruffy brown beard, his hair wild and tangled. Eyes frantic, desperate. He had to trust me. Trust that I was on his side, which was helped by the barrel currently being pressed into my head hard enough to bruise.

‘Three… two…five…five,’ he read off my fingers. I nodded with my eyes only.

‘Three two five five, okay? Thats my designation now let her _go!_ ’

It was stupid. Idealistic to think that in a room full of scientists and agents that no one would notice the hints I gave to him to preserve my own existence. Of course Zola noticed.

And with a few hand gestures and curt orders, I was in the Chair. They turned it on.

And a burning, searing pain filled my entire universe.

And information was _taken_ from me. Who Subject 3255 had been _before_ he was Subject 3255. That it had ever been a _he_. That James Buchanan Barnes had been dragged into a Hydra facility and yelled in English about Captain America. Who James Buchanan Barnes even was.

When they finally turned it off, Subject 3255 was gone. Good. That is the first and last time I will ever help him. I felt a bubbling hatred, branded into my bones from the Chair, simmer and spit. I _hated_ Subject 3255. How _dare_ he need assistance to answer such a simple question of _designation_. And how dare I give it to him.

Zola looked at me, saw the change in my face, saw the scorching hatred I felt coursing through my body. He nodded and said, ‘Good.’

Pride blossomed within me, joining the hate that I _knew_ would never dissipate.

And I felt resolve, cold, hard, unbreakable resolve cement into my bones that no matter _what_ I did, I would never find myself on the receiving end of that Chair again.

*** 

Something has changed.

The way the scientists would barely glance at me before zeroing onto Subject 3255. The way they seemed to _dismiss_ my existence like I was a piece of furniture. Or a wall.

The way they’d use me as a new way to make Subject 3255 compliant. Beat me. Burn me. Electrocute me. Like I was nothing more than a _prisoner_.

The way they referred to Subject 3255 as their asset. As if I hadn’t been completing missions for them for 26 years.

The way when I entered a room, they would already be looking behind me for _him_.

The way they ordered me to wait in the briefing room for orders, and then didn’t return for 18.5 hours.

The way Zola wouldn’t even look at me anymore.

The way they _forgot_ about me. 

It was all because of Subject 3255, if he had just died when they were training him, I would still be Hydra’s most prized weapon.

But he didn’t, so I wasn’t.

Not anymore.

***

I rarely saw Subject 3255 around the facility, but when I did he was being punished. The Chair. The Isolation Ward. The Lab. He must not be a very successful Subject. But it was irrelevant to me now, I was being transferred from this base to one in Petropavl, Kazakhstan.

Good. Maybe I would be more valued in this base.

Handler #3 came with me.

Days of sitting, mute and unmoving, in a black van surrounded by guns later, the base came into view.

More accurately, the mountain where the base was hidden came into view. Captain America and his team may have _tried_ to wipe Hydra off the map, but I guess they forgot that the ‘map’ also includes countries _outside_ of Europe. 

And then. Missions.

Assassinations. Full of screaming and _no witnesses asset_ and blood. Dripping pooling splattering blood and crying and begging and _please no I have a family_ and _no not in front of my husband_ and _no not here there are kids in the house_ but the children were already dead. _I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t that boy is younger than me what did he do that girl’s my age she’s studying for school and kissing a boy and is that what its like to have a normal life IS THAT WHAT I COULD HAVE HAD?_

But those thoughts were always fleeting. Momentary. After the mission was completed and I returned to the extraction location those thoughts were ripped to shreds and I despised myself for even thinking them, but Handler #3 told me that it was natural. To be expected.

It was nothing like what Subject 3255 was doing, so it made me feel better.

The missions were all different. Sometimes it was solo. Sometimes the gave me a file and a schedule of where I had to be when and what material would be provided. Others I was given just a name and a face, and the rest I had to do by myself.

Sometimes I didn’t kill, only gathered intel so someone else could kill.

Sometimes I was in charge of a team of agents. That was only for large-scale missions. Country destabilising. Terrorist attacks. 

They were _so loud_. After the explosion or evacuation, it was just _screaming screaming children crying foggy smells of death and dust and smoke and dead eyes and bodies on the sidewalk and blood smeared on walls and where’s the team where’s the extraction point WHERE AM I._

I wasn’t directly killing, but that made it worse. _How many people are dead how much destruction did I just cause what were the effects and my god please stop the screaming._

They were rare missions, but that didn’t make them any less unpleasant.

When I wasn’t on a mission, I was training. Taking on 10, 15, 20 agents at once. Sometimes handcuffed. Sometimes they paralysed me with a syringe full of liquid that _burned_ with cold. Sometimes I had weapons. Sometimes I didn’t. Sometimes they had weapons and I didn’t.I trained in every single weapon under the sun. Guns. Knives. Bow and arrow. Swords. Nun-chucks. Everything.

They had a Lab here, but it was smaller. Less creative with their techniques. But I still was sent there for tests.

Injections. Times when they’d pull out a silver knife and just rip me open and play with my insides. To test healing factor, pain tolerance. Tests how long I could go for without passing out. Then make that time longer and longer and longer. 

Tests of strength and mental capabilities. Tests of intelligence, aliases, history. Shocks if I failed.

Sometimes I’d be sent to the Lab and wake up with a whole new language in my head. New information I didn’t remember learning. 

Then sometimes, if it was an extended period of time before Hydra required my skills again, I would be put in a cryofreeze tank for storage.

Cryo was the one thing I allowed myself to hate. I hated the process. Hated how they would casually order me to _go to the cryofreeze chamber asset_ and then continue their conversations as I walked to the thing I most despised about Hydra. Hated how they would inject me with a dark blue liquid. Hated how I could feel that liquid slowing down my heart rate, metabolism, blood flow. Hated how stiff I would become. Hated the uncertainty. _How long will I be in here? How long until I am useful again? Will they forget about me? Will they focus on their new asset and leave me in here for 10 years? 50 years? 100 years?_

Hated the ten second long gap in which the tube filled with ice and all I could feel was _cold cold cold burning cold frosting over my eyeballs freezing my eyelids open freezing the insides of my ears_. There was one occasion when I didn’t close my mouth and all I could feel was _ice crawling down my throat freezing my voice box solidifying my lungs making each breath crackle_ before I lost consciousness.

I hated the deforesting process. Hated how I would yanked out of the tank, ice crusting eyelashes, hair, coated over my open eyes, and hosed down with water that _burned_. Hated how I could feel my blood sluggishly work against the ice to begin flowing. Hated how my heart would be ripped to shreds as it forced to beat against the ice crystals formed there. Hated how the frozen water on my muscles snapped and tore me up from the inside out. Hated how every breath crackled and I coughed up the water and ice that formed in my lungs. Hated how how unresponsive my limbs were. Hated how _vulnerable_ I was after.

Hated how many times it happened. Over and over and over _and over and over and over._

Then Handler #3 died. 

Was killed. By me. Orders straight from Zola. Apparently he was planning to destroy the program. My program. 

I though that maybe Handler #3 had cared a little. Simple orders. Glares instead of shocks. Isolation instead of torture.

He gave me things to read. Extra files no one needed. Recipes. He gave me a book once. Titled ‘Little Women.’ I fell in love. With Beth and Jo and Amy and Meg. With their lives. Their mother. Their trivial problems that seemed to matter so much to them.

I would close my eyes and imagine I was in their tiny, homy house with them. Putting on their plays with them, going to parties and balls with them, meeting the boy next door with them.

It was discovered before I had finished it. They took me to the Lab for a week, but I didn’t tell them who gave me the book. I had loyalty.

I thought he cared. 

But he wanted to destroy the program. He wanted no more Assets. He wanted to set me _free_. Freedom wasn’t allowed, wasn’t discussed, wasn’t even considered. Freedom meant no orders, no Handlers, no facility, no missions. 

I don’t know what I’d do with myself.

***

Apparently Subject 3255 had been behaving for long enough to require a new designation. _The Winter Soldier_. I also heard from some mouthy Hydra agents he had completed multiple missions as well. 

I didn’t see those agents again. You didn’t last in very long Hydra if you gossiped.

I was Ghost now, too. Because if the _Winter Soldier_ was to have a special designation, then I needed one too.

I was informed that he was coming to the base, as he needed some _additional training_. I allowed myself to feel a brief sense of annoyance that I would have to see and _train_ with Subject 3255. Subject 3255 who caused me to be overlooked. Subject 3255 who made me experience the Chair.

But now I was looking at the Winter Soldier for the first time, and he was so different to Subject 3255 I almost didn’t recognise him.

He had a silver arm, with an obnoxious red star on it. It was like a claim of ownership. A sign of communism. Proof of his allegiance with Hydra.

But it was his eyes that were different. He looked mechanical, emotionless. _Compliant_.

Good. About time he made himself useful to the cause. 

It didn’t take me very long to realise that our Handlers _despised_ each other. The glares, the loaded comments, the way neither of their hands strayed from where they kept their guns.

I was to be used as a way to train the Winter Soldier. We would fight, and the Handlers would take notes on our techniques. It was a training exercise, nothing more.

But that wasn’t quite true.

There was tension. Between the Handlers, goading each other and saying _lets see whose Asset is the best_. I knew the ‘training exercise’ was occurring weeks before I was told as rumours and excitement flew around the facility. _I’ve got twenty bucks on the Ghost winning_ and _if the Winter Soldier wins Brad owes me fifty bucks_ were phrases tossed around frequently, although never in the presence of any superior. And those in favour of the Winter Soldier stopped talking abruptly when they saw me.

Privately, I couldn’t _wait_ to fight him.

I couldn’t wait to finally make the Winter Soldier _pay_ for what he made me do to warrant the Chair. Even if he wasn’t the one to put me in it, the only reason Zola did was because of Subject 3255’s inadequacy, and my malfunction by helping him.

But there was something _else_. Something that itched at the back of my brain whenever I thought of Subject 3255 and the Chair in the same sentence. Something beyond the negative physical reaction and stark remembrance of the pain the Chair caused whenever I thought about it. Like I’d _forgotten_ something. Something about Subject 3255. 

But I dismissed it. Any vital information I was tested and tested on until it was branded into my brain. If Hydra didn’t seem it as relevant, then it wasn’t.

It seemed to me that this conflict was being treated more like the illegal fight club I had seen when tailing a target, with bets and snide words and extremely high wagers being placed on the outcome. Hydra soldiers gathered around the mat where we were to engage in the _training exercise_. So much so that fear of interference led to a six metre tall _cage_ being placed around the mat.

It didn’t feel like a training exercise anymore.

I looked at the cage and all I thought was no exits no escape no way out. 

Handler #4, _always so much harsher and angry than Handler #3, always so much more freer in his punishments_ , met me in my room before the fight. Training exercise. Whatever it was. A looming presence, making me feel like a vulnerable little girl, like a target. A harsh grip on my arm, his hot breath against my ear as he threatened _if you lose in this fight and make me look like an idiot you will have wished the Winter Soldier killed you._

I felt something stab through me. Was that _fear?_

I felt fear. Fear like a Target, and I wondered if this was what his targets had felt just before he killed them. Fear because of the cage, because of what Handler #4 had said, because I knew that he could kill me, because I knew that they would let him. 

I wasn’t looking forward to the fight anymore.

But I still had to do it.

I had to survive.

_What would Jo March do?_

Jo March would never let anyone know she was afraid. Jo March would do better then survive, she would win.

So I turned off the part of my brain that was chanting _run run run run before it happens run fast and far away_ and focused on tactics. Advantages, disadvantages.

The biggest disadvantage was the metal arm. It was most definitely stronger then I was, and once I was on the ground could easily choke me or just bash my brains out.

So, avoid metal arm.

A pretty big unknown was his serum. The first six years of my life was spent on a lab table getting enhancements. I was stronger, faster, could see better, hear better. They increased my heart rate so I constantly had adrenaline allowing through me, my fight or flight response constantly switched on. It mad me even faster and stronger. They made my nerve cells less sensitive so I didn’t feel as much pain. I could still feel pain though. I felt it every time they cut me open on the table and every time I failed on a mission and was punished and every time-

Nope. Turn it off. Back to tactics.

Point is, I knew my serum, but I didn’t know his. I didn’t know if I was stronger or weaker then him, faster or slower. Of course, the normal conclusion is because I’m smaller than him, I should be faster. But I would be an idiot to think that.

But an advantage was that I had been Hydra’s best asset for 26 years before he came along, so theoretically I should have more skills and training.

Theoretically.

***

I stood across from the Winter Soldier in the cage.

He was dressed in full tac gear, metal arm gleaming, muzzle and goggles on, lank brown hair hanging to his ears.

Interesting. My hair was always buzzed short to prevent someone pulling on it.

Hydra soldiers lingered on the outskirts, not wanting to seem like they were watching. 

But then, with a nod from both of the Handlers, we began. 

He was ruthless. Leading with his metal arm, I knew that one hit from that would end the _training exercise_ in a moment.

So I moved. He went high, I went low. 

_Snap_ went his knee, but he barely blinked. Something cold hard and unmistakable metal closed around my wrist and my bones _groaned_. 

_Break his hold get away he’s going to kill you._

Yanking on his hair, I slammed his head into his own metal arm. Kicked my legs up onto his shoulders and sunk my heel into his throat.

And then I was flying through the air.

I vaguely registered hitting first the metal cage then the mat and something in my neck going ow! but the more pressing concern was the _Winter Soldiers’ death arm was breaking my collarbone._

Kick to the ribs. The broken knee. The ribs again. Roll away. Use leg to boost up. Knee to the head. Dodge the arm. 

And so it continued. But in between dodging and kicking and elbowing and breaking bones I realised while he favours his left arm he overly protects his left shoulder, which must be where the arm in joined to his body.

Weak spot. 

I didn’t hesitate. Neither did he.

Which is how I ended up coughing blood onto his face as he broke three of my ribs with one punch. 

Gross? Yes. But distracting? Also yes.

(extremely painful? _Yes yes yes yes yes yes ye-_ )

But he let his guard down. For one second.

But that was all I needed.

I slammed the heel of my palm in his shoulder and he _screamed_.

Good. Now he knew how it felt.

I struck his temple with my elbow, and he crumpled.

And, coughing up blood and cage swooping around me, I did too.

But I stayed awake. So they couldn’t pull excuses, so they couldn’t say _she didn’t win because she collapsed straight after he did,_ so they had to admit I was the better asset.

So I could look them in the eyes as they opened the cage they’d trapped us in, smile through bloody teeth, and say,

‘I won.’


	2. The Red Room

It took me two weeks to fully heal from the _training exercise_.

It took the Winter Soldier three and a half.

After the _training exercise_ our Handlers seemed to do everything in their power to avoid each other. It had the added benefit of separating me and the Winter Soldier as well.

I waited for them to eventually send us on a mission together _please don’t I think I might kill him when we’re alone_ but thankfully they never did.

Then one day, the familiar routine of _cryo, missions, reports, training, cryo_ was broken.

We were being loaned out to a sister organisation, the Red Room.

Apparently they needed new teachers and Hydra needed more agents, so in exchange for 2 years of teaching, Hydra would gain 7 soldiers out of the 12 in the graduating class.

All I’d ever known was Hydra, so I was… _excited_ to see a similar organisation.

 _Excitement_. It was an unfamiliar emotion.

After 40 hours of sitting, unmoving in a van surrounded by 26 guns, transport took us to a large manor on a hill surrounded by woodland covered with snow.

It was elegant. Sweeping angles and polished dark wood. Gold accents. 

A woman met us at the door. We had been briefed on her during the transport. She was Madame B, the leader of the Red Room. 

She wore a dark blue dress. Short greying hair perfectly curled around her face. It was a hard face, with sharp eyes and a poised body. She looked over us with a nod, and addressed Handler #4.

‘You’re late. Come through. Sleeping quarters on the left. They will share,’ She had a short, sharp voice, Russian coming choppily out of her mouth. It made everything she say sound like fact. She wasn’t to be argued with. 

She led us through the facility, which was just as grand inside as its exterior. Rooms were pointed out, with cutting comments: ‘Don’t go in there.’ ‘No speaking in this room.’ ‘Women only in here.’

Then she reached our quarters. Two single beds. Metal bed frame. Neatly folded black clothes on the end of the left bed. They wouldn’t fit the Soldier, so they were mine.

She pointed at the clothes and looked at me. ‘Training clothes, for classes when you are a student. He will only teach. Hand to hand combat. Skills in weaponry. How to defeat a larger opponent. You will teach and learn.’

With that, she lead us to her office.

Sitting behind her desk, she began her summary: ’The day begins at 6:30am. Breakfast is served in the Hall at 6:45. Then training until 1:30. Lunch is served in the Hall. Training recommences at 2:00. Dinner is served at 9:00, and the day concludes at 10:00.

‘We have 4 classes of girls here, based off skill level. You will both teach the upper 2, the Red-Backs and the Black Widows. Each class has approximately 12 girls. They have no place in this world, no _purpose_. You are to show them what they can become.’

She became unexpectedly passionate towards the end of her statement. She loved the girls. But it was not a love that tied them down. It was a love that made Madame B push them further, harder.

I admired this woman.

She composed herself and looked at the Soldier with a piercing gaze. ‘You are to train them without remorse. There is no _tapping out_. At the end of a fight the weaker ones are either unconscious, or dead. That is life. That is what will make the other girls stronger. Strong as marble.’

She turned to me now. I lifted my chin and met her eyes, unlike the Soldier who stared at his feet. Coward. ‘You will train them the same. You will also learn espionage and seduction with first the Red-Backs, then the Widows.’

Which meant I had to teach the Widows with the Soldier. Yay.

I knew more than him anyway, I had been Hydra’s asset for around double the amount of the he had. I could have told her how disobedient he was in the first few weeks of training. 

Before _he_ became an _it_.

***

The first day we were together. They introduced us to the girls at breakfast. _Our two temporary new assets, they will be instructing you on how you can be better and found your place in the world._

Breakfast was eaten in silence, except for the occasional murmured discussion between trainers as the daily newspaper was passed around, first the teachers, then the girls. I was told to sit with the Black Widows, and given a seat.

It was next to Yelena (long blonde hair, blue eyes, approximately 5’9, approximately 122 pounds, sharp cheekbones) and across from Natalia (long, curly, red hair, green eyes, approximately 5’6, approximately 125 pounds, round face). They looked at me cautiously, and made subtle hand signs and taps on the table to each other that I couldn’t understand.

It was frustrating. To be left out. For my first experience of girls my age to be excluded.

The Winter Soldier and I taught the Black Widows first. 

I let him take charge, he seemed to be respected more anyway.

The class of 12 girls entered the training room and immediately stood in a line in the same relaxed, but ready stance. They were all sixteen or seventeen.

I knew I looked only a few years older than them. This probably didn’t help me on the amount of respect I had.

The Soldier glanced at me, seemingly lost as for what to do for a moment, before he straightened and looked at the girls.

But they had still caught the lapse in confidence, and the way he looked to me for guidance.

Good.

He walked up and down the line, talking in their stances and their expressions. I let my eyes sweep over them too, refusing to let my expression change when it passed over Natalia and Yelena. 

Eventually, the Soldier finished his sweep, and lifted his chin decisively.

Training had begun.

***

I didn’t know how long we’d been here so far. My only measure of time was how long my hair was. The girls told me it was black. 

The more you know.

Training was cold and brutal, as were the girls.

Most of the girls.

But I saw the way some of them met each others eyes and then quickly flitted away. Like the forbidden hand signs Natalia and Yelena were using on the first day.

They were forming attachments. Misplaced faith. Misguided trust.

Faith that they would never actually have to fight each other outside of the Red Room’s walls.

‘Stop,’ said the Soldier softly, but his voice carried to the corners of the room. Immediately the sounds of flesh hitting flesh ceased as the girls stopped fighting one another, and turned to look at the Soldier.

I stepped forward. 

I could feel the attention shift from the Soldier to me, as the girls’ cold stares seemed to have physical weight.

‘You trust each other,’ I tried to imitate the way that Madame B spoke - spitting out words in Russian as if they were fact. ‘You are fighting each other, but there is trust that you will never have to fight outside these walls. This is false. You will be hired by different organisations, with often the same interests. You must be prepared to fight each other until death.’

The Soldier picked up exactly where I left off, and ordered Yelena and Natalia to fight.

They didn’t hesitate, both almost leaping from their fighting partners to meet in the middle, and the other girls immediately pulled back to spectate.

It was beautiful and brutal. They could be performing a duet in ballet, if not for the rapidly forming bruises. Yelena swept Natalia’s feet out form under her, but barely had she hit the mat when she was up again, kicking at Yelena’s head. A snap echoed in the room as Yelena broke her ankle, but Natalia barely blinked. It was a dance, with rising and falling tension all building to something, something dangerous.

Yelena pulled out a knife.

The dance paused, and a singular breath in was taken by all spectators. Natalia’s eyes widened slightly and she exhaled sharply.

The moment was over, and the brutal duet resumed. Faster, harder, colder. Blood began to run down Natalia’s legs and arms.

And in a shift of movement, the tiniest loss of balance on blood-slicked floors, Yelena had Natalia pinned to the ground. The red of Natalia’s hair mixing with the blood.

‘Misplaced faith. Misguided trust. Natalia trusted Yelena would follow the rules of the fight, but outside these walls there are no rules.’

I almost ordered Yelena to kill her, to truly prove my point. To follow Madame B’s rules of training. The girls were expecting it. Yelena was tightening her grip on the knife, Natalia had rested her head onto the floor.

‘Stop.’ The Soldier. My eyes narrowed and I glared at him.

The girls released the breath they were holding and some took a step back from when they’d unconsciously leaned forward. Then they looked at the clock on the wall, and went to their next class - ballet.

Natalia and Yelena didn’t look at one another.

When the room was clear, I rounded on him. ‘You are attached.’ I accused.

‘It would be a waste to kill her.’

‘You disobeyed Madame B’s instructions.’

And with that, I left.

***

I didn’t just teach however, I learnt.

I learnt the exact way to blend into a crowd.

I learnt how to pull on a facade like pulling on a shirt.

I learnt how to move my hips and bend over _just so_ to cause loose lips.

I learnt how to use my body like a tool to convince people to talk.

I learnt how to stand out in a crowd. 

How to be underestimated.

How to conceal weaponry in tight clothing.

How to laugh with the richest people, and cry with the poorest.

How to twist my black hair up to make targets focus more on my cheekbones than the weapons in my hands.

I learnt how to be a spy.

And I liked it. For the first time in my life I was in control of something.

***

I graduated from the Red-Backs to the Widows relatively quickly, and the instructors commented on how impressed they were at my fast learning. 

The praise wasn’t like Zola’s or Handler #4’s. It was real, a comment for the sake of a comment, rather than a means to manipulate.

A little distance and time from Hydra’s workings made me realise how much of it was false, controlled. How they would withhold information to see how I reacted when I experienced it.

Like when they didn’t inform me that a target had six children of varying ages in her house. She was a foster parent.

Or when I discovered that the target _was_ armed, unlike what they had told me, they made notes and left me to sew up my bullet wounds. Alone.

But here. I wasn’t alone. There was no Chair or Lab. Of course, there were certain restrictions to induce compliance. Handcuffed to the bed each night, no leaving the manor without explicit permission. Well, the Soldier wasn’t handcuffed. He was only an instructor, after all. 

Punishments for disobeying - isolation, skipped meals, and for those who really failed to comply, they would disappear behind a red door and wouldn’t ever come back.

But that didn’t happen very often.

The Widows were. Different. To the Red-Backs.

Of course I knew that already from teaching them, but learning with the Widows was very different. It was intense. 

They gave each other poisonous glances whenever they were demonstrating their talents. There seemed to be unnamed but extremely high stakes on each demonstration. 

There was an unaddressed but conspicuous _obsession_ to be the best.

But outside the training rooms? They were like any other teenagers that I’ve observed, just quieter and sharper.

There was whispered discussion on the stairwell about how _Polina and Karina have definitely fucked at some point_ and how _I heard that Lada and Zasha broke up and then she almost killed Lada in training yesterday._

And slowly, I was included more and more in these discussions.

***

It started subtly. A whispered explanation from Yelena as to what a hand sign meant at breakfast. A swapping of the soups we were given for lunch because Polina knew I hated the cabbage soup. An asked opinion on the latest gossip circulating the stairwell.

And in turn, I opened myself to them. Being a teacher did have its perks after all. 

Sharing some of the special tea and cake the teachers got twice a week. Returning their gossip with some of my own, like how _Madame B definitely prefers the Widows to the Red-Backs_ and that _the Soldier has a favourite student but I can’t figure out who it is._

I was never close to Natalia until the discussion of names arose.

***

‘What is your name?’

We were sitting in the stairwell, me, Natalia, Yelena and Lada. I was looking at the clock on the wall, knowing I should go help the Soldier prepare for the next combat lesson with the Widows, which was in 20 minutes. 

But they had convinced me to stay, so I did.

Lada was complaining about how _dumb my name is I mean come on Madame B, you could have chosen one with a better meaning than ‘Beauty Goddess’ when Yelena means ‘sun ray’ like how badass is that?_

When Yelena looked directly at me and said ‘What is your name?’

I made sure not to change anything about the way I was sitting or my expression, but I felt the warm, comfortable feeling inside me freeze.

‘I don’t have one. I have a designation.’ My voice was cool and even. And not encouraging further discussion.

Lada, always one to ignore social cues (it made her a terrible spy, and was actually quite funny to watch in espionage training), waved a hand.

‘Yes yes we know you’re the _Ghost_ and all that, but that’s not a _name_.’ 

I eyed the clock, I really should go and help then Soldier, but I felt the need to defend myself. 

‘You don’t have freckles, Yelena doesn’t have brown eyes, Natalia doesn’t have short hair, and I don’t haver a name,’ I shrugged, ‘It’s not that _weird._ ’ I added, trying out a word I’d heard Zasha say a lot.

I didn’t mention that Zasha said it a lot about Lada. It felt unusual, keeping secrets not for an organisation or because of fear of punishment, but because I had been trusted to keep them from an equal.

Weird indeed.

‘ _And_ ’ I added as a thought struck me, ‘The Soldier doesn’t have a name either.’

Natalia shifted ever so slightly. I zeroed in my focus on her, leading to the others turning their weighted gazes to her.

‘ _Natalia_ ,’ said Lada, teasing her almost, ‘What do you know that we don’t?’

She looked uncomfortable, but nevertheless opened her mouth and told her enraptured audience that the Soldier had asked her to call him _Yasha_.

‘But only when we’re alone, so his Handlers don’t find out.’ she added hurriedly. This addition did not help the situation at all.

‘ _When you’re alone?_ ’ Lada practically screeched. ‘Do tell what you and Tall Dark and Handsome do when you’re _alone._ ’

But I wasn’t listening. The Soldier had _given himself_ a name. That. That wasn’t allowed. We had our _designation_ and that was it. Was ‘The Winter Solder’ not good enough for him? Did he decide that he was _worthy_ of a name? Assets didn’t have names. We had designations. Targets and Handlers and Witnesses and People had names. But we weren’t any of those things.

I stood up abruptly. I was going to talk to him about this. Right now.

‘I’m going to go help him prepare, I should have been there 15 minutes ago.’ I said stiffly, and started walking up the steps. 

Natalia reached out a hand and touched my ankle. It was gentle, but a reminder that if I didn’t stop walking she could easily make me stay.

‘Its okay to have a name you know.’ Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle. ‘Its okay to give yourself a name.’

I looked into her cool green eyes, and saw the faint traces of pity and, _understanding?_ As if she had gone through this routine before. She probably had with the Soldier.

The emotions surrounding our chit chat on the stairwell head shifted from idle gossip, into something I was never expecting to experience when I came to the Red Room. Friendship. Trust.

Not looking away from her eyes, I hoarsely whispered, ‘Who gave you your names?’

‘Our parents.’ Yelena. When I risked a glance up at her, her eyes were so impossibly soft I felt my knees give out and I slowly sank to sit on the stairs again.

 _Parents_. I knew the word. Knew it from mission reports and Target files. I knew everyone must have had parents at some point for them to exist. But why had it not occurred to me that _I_ must have had parents?

‘Or Madame B, if our parents didn’t care for us enough for that.’ That was Lada. Her tone still held the flippancy that was so integrally _her_ , but there was a deeper hurt beneath it.

But then I realised what she had actually _said_ , and it sent me into further turmoil. Did you only give names to important things? Then why did Targets have names? They weren’t important, their only purpose was to die, after all. Why didn’t me and the Soldier have names? Weren’t we important? Who judged who was deemed worthy of a name and who wasn’t? 

The Soldier had deemed himself worthy. Could I? Was I?

Natalia seemed to decide for me. She leaned forward and said to me, ‘We’ll give you a name. After dinner.’

I gave the most steady nod I could, and went to help the Soldier prepare for the class.

I didn’t talk to him about it. I didn’t want to. Not yet anyway.

Not until I had my name too.

***

 _Anastasia_. Hissed to me as we were leaving dinner. Meaning rebirth. 

Resurrection.

It made me feel like I was valued. To Natalia, Yelena, Lada. To the Red Room, who went to the effort to _name_ their assets. To students. To other instructors.

But there was someone I needed to talk to first.

***

‘Yasha.’ I greeted the Soldier almost accusingly after our morning training the Widows.

‘Anastasia.’ He replied evenly.

Silence. It felt as if we were at a stalemate, waiting to see who would crack first. The Big Question was hanging in the air between us, waiting to see who would address it first.

I may have initiated the conversation first, but the almost bone-deep urge to be better than him kept me from speaking up.

He sighed slightly, and said it for me. ‘Why do they get names and we don’t?’ He looked lost and confused behind his blank mask. ‘I…I’m not sure.’

‘Why can’t we tell our Handlers about the names?’ I asked, not because I was curious, but because I wanted the Soldier, or Yasha, to put into words what I was feeling.

‘Because we’re not allowed names.’ His voice was hoarse.

Neither of us bothered asking the question we were both thinking. _Why?_

‘I think I prefer it here. To Hydra. I feel,’ I searched for the right word, ‘more like a _person_. Here.’

‘I’ve never felt like a person before.’ He said it like a confession, like I hadn’t been thinking of him as an _it_ for years.

But that didn’t stop me immediately opening my mouth to contradict him, because I knew that statement was _wrong_ somehow. He _had_ been a person a long time ago, I knew that, the same way I knew my resting heart rate (150 beats per minute) and how long I could go without sleep and still be operational (174.5 hours). 

‘Why Yasha?’ The question was supposed to be just idle curiosity, but the second it left my mouth I _knew_ there was something else. Something significant about the name Yasha.

This was _important_. He had to…remember. He had to _remember_ something. Something important.

‘I… I don’t know. It feels right. But also not. Almost right.’

What did he have to remember? What was so important?

‘What wasn’t right about it?’ I demanded. He hesitated, thinking. No. No if he thought too hard he wouldn’t get it. _What did he need to get? How did I know that?_ ‘Soldier! Tell me right now!’

‘I’m Russian!’ He said almost defiantly, like it was something he was proud to know. Like he’d been _taught_ it.

‘No you’re not!’ _How did I know that?_ ‘Why _Yasha?_ ’ _Why is this important?_

We were yelling now. Both trying to remember _something_. Something very important we’d both forgotten. Desperately trying to trigger each other into remembering. _Why was this so important?_

‘I don’t fucking know!’ The words hit like a physical blow. I took a step back. We’d just broken into something. Cracked into the thing we had both forgotten.

‘You just spoke English.’

‘ _What?_ ’ Back to Russian. But I knew that he could speak English even before he opened his mouth. It wasn’t even worth asking myself how anymore. And he had an accent, one that was so pronounced I didn’t even have to think to know what it was.

‘You’re _American_ , now why _Yasha._ ’ Something was very very important here. We were so close. I could feel it. I was desperately trying to make my mouth form the shape of English words instead of Russian. So much so that I didn’t even know what language I was speaking as I started yelling any facts connected to this name I knew.

‘Means fame, renown, glory! Defender of man! Russian diminutive form of Yakov! Russian equivalent of English names Jacob and - '

‘James.’ Breathed the Soldier, Yasha, James.

I knew that name. I knew it the second after he’d said it. I _knew_ him as James at some point. He looked at me, and it was like I was seeing him for the first, no second, time. He had someone behind those eyes. And I’d seen him like that before. _When?_

But we weren’t done yet. We couldn’t breathe and relax. Because we were onto something. Because just James by itself didn’t seem right.

I saw his name on a file. I had read a file on him. _Why couldn’t I remember the file?_ His name was followed by two others. He had _three_ names. _What were they?_

‘What else?’ I snapped, getting up in his face and clicking my fingers in front of his eyes. ‘James isn’t it! There’s more. Now what is your full name James? Yasha? Winter Soldier? Asset? Subject 3255?’

I called him every name I’d heard him be referenced by, and he reacted to the last one.

‘Sargent, 32557038…’ His eyes were wide, unbelieving. His mouth moved almost on autopilot, as if he was used to saying this phrase, but I’d never heard him say it. So it must be from before he was captured.

Wait. _Captured._

Somewhere, a tiny part of my brain bothered to wonder _how do I know he was captured?_

I ignored it. _How’s_ and _Why’s_ didn’t matter anymore.

He had backed away from me, so I advanced on him again. Trapping him in the corner of the room. I snapped my fingers in his face again. 

‘Come on Soldier! Yasha! Whatever! You were captured! Captured from where? Where were you _before_ Hydra? Who _were_ you?’

‘Barnes, James Buchanan. Sargent. 32557038. Barnes, James Buchanan. Sargent. 32557038. Barnes, James Buchanan. Sargent. 3255…’ His eyes were squeezed shut, and he repeated this phrase over and over again. Mouth on autopilot. Like he hadn’t even realised that he had remembered his _names_. His names _before_ Hydra.

‘James Buchanan Barnes,’ I yelled, because if he got caught in this loop he’d never remember the Important Part. And we were so close. I _knew_ it. ’What were you - ‘

‘Call me Bucky.’ His voice was casual, American drawl as clear as day. Like it was a reflex reaction to hearing his name. Like he was used to saying it _before_. So different from his frantic mix of Russian and English before. 

Then he choked.

We’d hit it.

That was it. The Important Bit.

Silence.

I sat back on my heels. Breathed out. At some point he had sunk to the floor and I had followed him.

Slowly, I realised we were still in the training room. The door was mercifully closed. My throat hurt from yelling so much for the first time in years.

My part was done. All the Soldier, Yasha, James, Bucky whoever he was, had to do was _remember._

***

I told him I would cover for him for one hour, then he would have to be the Soldier again.

Then I left the training room.

And saw Natalia and Yelena standing there.

Adrenaline flooded my system and I felt hot. They had to have heard. We were practically screaming.

I couldn’t give them an excuse. I couldn’t even think of one, and lying to Natalia is almost impossible. The air was thick. 

‘He’s remembering.’ Natalia finally said, after several long seconds of staring.

I didn’t bother asking how Natalia knew that he had forgotten his _life_. How she knew he _had_ a life before Hydra.

‘Yes.’ She lifted an eyebrow, and I barely registered Yelena looking between us with confusion etched on her face. ‘He knows he had a life before Hydra. He knows his names. But.’ I hesitated. I liked Natalia, she gave me my name after all, but like was a different to trust. And I didn’t know if I trusted her enough to tell her about the things I just _knew._

She looked at me, and probably saw everything I was thinking on my face. I was too tired to keep the mask on, and too tired to address the dangerous thoughts swirling at the back of brain. _Why? Why do I have to keep a mask on all the time? Why did he forget his life? What else had I forgotten? Was I someone else before Hydra too?_

I shoved it down. Those were thoughts for later.

‘Anastasia,’ she said warningly, reminding me of what she had given me, and how much I owed her for that name. ‘I trust him too. I want to know what you’re thinking.’ She was blunt, her tone ordering me almost like a Handler.

 _Why did I have a Handler? Why did I need a Handler?_

I was talking before I’d even registered it.

’But there’s something else. Something big. Something big he needs to remember. And he said it. He said it when he was captured and I was there and _why can’t I remember what are they doing to me?_ ’ I was practically hysterical when I finished. 

And that was it. That was what the swirling, twisting feeling was in my stomach that had been there ever since I realised something wasn’t quite right with my memories. The people at Hydra had done something to me. To make me forget.

How many times had they done that? Once? Twice? Three times?

How much had I forgotten?

I leaned back against the training room door, and slid to my knees. The twisting feeling crawled up to my throat and sat there. I had to work to spit words out around it.

‘I just,’ my voice was hoarse. ‘I just thought I knew things.’ It was a pathetic explanation for what I was feeling, but it was the truth. I thought I knew what was wrong and right. I thought I knew who the Soldier was. I thought I knew who _I_ was. I thought I could trust my memories. I thought I could trust Hydra.

Natalia looked slightly uncomfortable, and sad. Very sad. She waited until my minor breakdown was finished, and I’d started breathing normally and eventually said. ‘I think you should stay here and not go back to Hydra.’ Her voice was firm, like she’d through about it for a while.

I dimly realised that Yelena had left.

‘She’s gone to try and stop people coming down the hallway.’ Natalia said, seeing the question on my face. 

‘How?’ I wheezed, and she knew I wasn’t asking about Yelena anymore.

‘The girls will help you. Say you need more training as a spy. Say you’re the best teacher.’ Her voice was sure, unwavering. I noticed she didn’t include herself in that statement.

‘What about…’ I waved a vague hand to the door, referencing the Soldier. Or whoever he was now.

Her expression changed, minutely, but enough to make me stare at her.

‘You’re not going to protect him.’ I said blankly. She wasn’t going to protect him against Hydra. She was going to let him be taken back.

She sighed. ’I’m not sure he’ll want protecting.’

I let out an incredulous laugh and stood up. She rose too, eyeing me warily.

‘You think he’ll want to go back to Hydra after all… _this?_ ’

‘No,’ she said evenly, ‘I don’t think he’ll want to stay with any organisation after this.’ She spoke to me like a child. I felt like a child.

It wasn’t helped that even though I looked older than her, Natalia was still taller than me.

Then I registered what she said. ‘He’s going to desert.’

‘We’re going to live without orders, without Handlers, without a facility, without missions. We’re going to be _free_.’

They were going to desert. Hydra’s most precious asset, because as much I didn’t like to admit it I knew it wasn’t me anymore, and the Red Room’s most skilled pupil.

And I ran. Ran away from her. From her forbidden opinions. From her plans. From the terrifyingly empty concept of _freedom_. From the Soldier screaming behind the door. From the treacherous questions in my head. 

Ran away from all of it.

***

I sat on the bed in the room, and thought. 

There were things I _knew_ : Hydra had messed with my and the Soldier’s memories, the Red Room was… nice, Natalia and the Soldier were running away from both of them, the Soldier had been someone before Hydra, Hydra had erased that person, and I didn’t want to go back to Hydra.

Those were _facts_. 

But I also had my training. My training which said that freedom was a forbidden, horrible thing that only weak people like Targets and Collateral had. Said that Hydra and the Red Room were helping bring _order_ to a _chaotic world_. Said I should follow the orders of my superior. Said that emotions were weak. Said that all I was was a weapon, a skillset, an _asset_. 

But here that wasn’t quite true. Here I didn’t feel like I only existed for my skills, although admittedly that was why I was in the Red Room in the first place. I also existed for the bits of gossip Zasha shared on the stairwell, for the grateful looks I got from sharing the bits of cake only teachers were allowed, for Yelena’s kind looks, for Lada’s sarcasm, for Natalia’s smirks when someone said something stupid, for Polina’s intricate knowledge of my likes and dislikes.

Here I was a friend. Here I was a _person_.

And Natalia and James were the smartest people I knew. If they were prepared to go against everything we had ever known, to _desert_ , they must have a good reason.

And of all people, Natalia had decided to divulge their plan to _me_. Which probably meant she either knew I wasn’t going to tell anyone, or she thought I was going to go with them.

I thought I had taught her better about misplaced faith.

_What would Jo March do?_

Jo March would follow her friends without hesitation. Jo March would embrace the adventure.

But I needed more information first.

And I just made myself look like an idiot by running away. _Great._

Next lesson, _James_ tried to act as normal as possible. He gave curt orders, and looked over the girls with a cold gaze. 

But he wasn’t a spy, and they were.

They knew something had happened. And if they knew, then eventually our Handlers would know too. 

And then, as Lada likes to say, we were fucked.

***

‘Why are you leaving?’

I cornered Natalia after dinner. I knew she would be the mastermind, the one who came up with the idea to leave.

And I wanted some straight answers, not the mumbled excuses and kicked puppy looks from the Soldier, James, whatever.

She stared at me, cool green eyes piercing right through me to the other side of the stairway. Mouth curled into a smirk. 

After a few seconds staring down at me _why is she taller then me this isn’t fair_ she finally opened her mouth to answer.

‘We’re looking for adventure.’ I raised my eyebrows.

‘That’s bullshit and you know it. If you’re going to lie to me you could at least _try_.’

‘Wow Lada’s rubbed off on you,’ she mumbled to herself. It was an obvious bait and I just waited, arms crossed, for her to drop the bored persona and give me some straight answers.

She wasn’t a spy for nothing, and she knew that I wasn’t going anywhere.

Natalia sighed. ‘It’s just, this place isn’t right,’ her voice was unsteady and unsure as she explained herself, ‘its not right that we were taken as little girls and taught that _killing people_ is our only option. I want to live, go to university, get a job, have a family. And he does too. I want to be in control of something, for once.’

And I understood. I preferred the Red Room because I had choices. Admittedly small things, like what I wanted for lunch and who I was going to talk to that day, but they were choices nonetheless. 

‘We want to desert because we’re sick of everything hurting _all the time_ , we’re sick of not being in control of where our lives are going. We’re sick of being _killers_. Sick of training to be _killers_. Sick of knowing that that’s the only thing that we’ll be good for. Sick of being told that we have no place in this world.’ Her voice was hushed, words spilling over themselves.

But that wasn’t all. Because the question in my mind was _why now?_ She must have had these feelings for a while, so what was the catalyst?

‘And,’ she began haltingly, ‘I found out what the graduation ceremony is. It’s an operation, to…to take away our ability to have children.’ 

Oh.

‘The only thing more important than a mission.’ I said, in a daze. I could see now, why she’d be so desperate, so anxious to leave. Especially as she was likely to graduate very soon.

So I made my decision. I didn’t want to be a part of an organisation that takes away peoples choices by _operating_ on them. It wasn’t that I thought Natalia would want children, it was she didn’t even get the _choice_ to have them.

‘I’m coming with you.’

And she nodded like she knew I was going to say that the second she told me about their plans.

She probably did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, multiple things
> 
> 1\. does anyone know when the Winter Soldier was in the Red Room? I couldn't find any dates but in my mind its mid 1970s.
> 
> 2\. starting a new fic just when school was starting up again was not my best move, so updates MIGHT be weekly, might not (will probably not be)
> 
> 3.the next chapter is not finished but is very long, so hopefully you can stand the wait!
> 
> 4\. comments are the literal best thing to ever happen so
> 
> oh and just a quick clarification. her name Anastasia is the Russian version of the name, so its pronounced Ah-nuh-stah-SEE-yah. I don't know if thats really obvious or not, so Ive put it in just in case!


	3. The (better) Great Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just quick clarification, in my head its like 1975ish, and the guns I talk about in this chapter are from that time.

We had a plan.

Ok, _Natalia_ had a plan. 

She told me through hurried hand signs and whispers under breath at breakfast, when Yelena wasn’t looking. And I felt something squeeze my stomach when I thought about leaving Yelena and Lada and Polina and Zasha behind.

But three people was already a riskily high number, and if Natalia could leave them behind when she’d known them for ten times as long as I have, then I can leave them behind too.

I told James the plan during lessons. 

We were leaving in three days, and we had a _lot_ to do in between now and then. 

I had to steal mine and James’ passports and ID from Madame B’s office, James had to get us as much cash as possible, and Natalia had to figure out where her passport and ID _was_ , and then I was going to steal it.

She wanted to get her passport herself. This lead to a hissed argument at lunch, when the ‘no talking’ rules were slightly more lax.

‘Its easier for me to sneak around! I’m an instructor! They will trust me more!’

‘You already have enough to do! I-‘

‘Natalia! They catch you, they will _kill you_.’

‘What? You mean they won’t kill _you?_ ’

‘Probably not! I’m property of _Hydra_. They can’t kill me without some serious backlash.’

For once, I won the argument. 

And now I was desperately trying to act normal as I walked down the carpeted hallway to Madame B’s office. Unfortunately, the office was at the very end of a hallway in a very specific part of the Red Room, so I couldn’t pretend I was there for any other reason.

But Natalia had told me that Madame B was out for the day, consuming human souls or whatever she does in her free time.

I couldn’t hear anyone behind the door, so I started to bend down to pick the lock.

‘ _Ghost_.’ Short, snappy Russian I’d only heard from one person. _Shit shit shit shit shit_. I straightened quickly and turned to face her. Madame B’s face was pinched, she was very angry at something. I sincerely hoped that it wasn’t me. _For fucks sake Natalia_. ‘What exactly are you doing.’

_Think think think think._

_Shit shit shit shit._

I widened my stance, and tried to look like I was in control. ‘I wanted to discuss something with you.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘In private, please Madame B.’

‘Right. Well get out of the way. I need to unlock the door. It is impossible to pick this lock is you know.’ She added pointedly. _Shit_. She knew. She knew, or at least suspected.

And also, an unpickable lock? How can a lock be impossible to pick?

Madame B quickly answered my unspoken question by completely ignoring the key hole, and instead placing her finger on a wood panel to the left of the door.

Biometric scanner. I didn’t even know those existed.

Also _what the hell was I going to discuss with her to get her to leave the room?_

She walked around her desk, and gestured to a chair that was directly in front of it. We both sat, and she loomed over me. I don’t remember feeling this small compared to her the first time I was in here.

‘Right. So I wanted to discuss with you, um,’ _come on brain come on brain come on brain… YES_. ‘I wanted to discuss with you the possibility of bringing Natalia on the Soldier’s or my next mission. As training, and to see how she reacts in the field.’

I internally fist pumped. That would mean she would have to _give_ us ID’s, cash and weapons.

And Madame B seemed to be actually considering it as well. Maybe we wouldn’t have to steal anything.

‘I would prefer her to go with the Soldier.’ Ouch. ‘And I would of course need to consult the Soldier’s Handler beforehand. But yes. Yes I do think that it would be beneficial for our best pupil.’

Ok, that would be fine. Madame B gives the Soldier and Natalia their ID, I steal mine and sneak out after them.

‘But,’ Madame B continued. ‘I will wait until she has graduated and completed the ceremony before sending her out.’

Wait no. _No no no no no._

‘But surely that won’t be for a while. So-‘

‘No. I will change the timetable so she graduates earlier,’ she turned around and pulled out a notebook from the huge dark word shelves behind her and made a note. The head of the Red Room has a _diary_. 'After all like you said, she is ready for missions.’

‘But I-‘

‘Dismissed.’ Her voice was colder, and I knew if I kept protesting she would demand to know why. This was her giving me a way out. An unspoken _this is your last warning_. I stood up and went to the door.

‘Oh and _Ghost_ ,’ she put emphasis on my title, as if she knew that I didn’t consider it my name any more. I turned around. ’Thank you, for bringing this to my attention.’ Then she smiled a sickening smile.

I hurried out the door.

I fucked up. I fucked up _bad_.

Now, Natalia was going graduate even sooner, I didn’t have the ID’s, and Madame B definitely knew something was going on.

But I was going to fix at least one of those tonight. 

Maybe.

Because when Madame B had turned around, I had grabbed one of the pens that sat on her desk. And hopefully, her fingerprint would be on that pen. 

James had yelled at me for no less than 23 minutes, but eventually helped my find some tape so I could pull her fingerprint off it. 

He looked at the clock on the wall. ‘You have 15 minutes until the instructor is going to come around and handcuff you to the bed, and I can stall for you for probably around 5 minutes.’ He shifted awkwardly, ‘and just… be safe, ok?’

I waved him off. ‘Pff, I’m going to sneak past 4 guards, bypass a biometric scanner with sticky tape and break into the office of the most important person in the Red Room.’ I shrugged. ‘I’ll be _fine_.’

***

Right now I was a lot of things, and fine wasn’t one of them. 

Because approximately 1 minute ago, I had my feet in my face hiding in a cupboard as Madame B and one of the senior instructors discussed about one foot away from me how _the Ghost and the Winter Soldier need to be removed from the program, they are a danger to the Black Widows, they are planting ideas of betrayal._

Because approximately 6 minutes ago, I was frantically cleaning up all of the loose papers and files I’d thrown on the floor during my frantic search and closing and rearming her safe as Madame B was unlocking the door.

Because approximately 9 minutes ago, I had discovered that I had wasted three and a half minutes looking for the passports in the drawers when there was a half-heartedly hidden safe in her cupboards.

Because approximately 14 minutes ago, I was trying to look subtle while desperately pressing a piece of sticky tape to a wood panel, begging that the biometric scanners weren’t extremely sensitive.

Because approximately 16 minutes ago, any pretence of casualness went out the window as I, _temporarily incapacitated_ the four guards stationed around the hallway.

Because approximately 18 minutes ago, I was ignoring puzzled looks from girls and instructors alike as I sprinted from James and my room down the hallway towards Madame B’s office.

Because right now I was _flying_ from one end of the Red Room Manor to the other, passports shoved in my bra, desperately trying to beat the senior instructor who came around to chain me to my bed.

_Run run run run run_

I burst into our room, black spots swimming at the edge of my vision, breathing like I was in labor (which I know about, because on one mission a Target was giving birth before I eliminated her. The way she was screaming I thought she was being tortured).

But I had beat him. 

James was on his feet in an instant, shoving a cold metal arm down my shirt _cold adamantium across my collarbone backed into a corner cage digging into my back breaking my ribs choking on blood_ to get the passports out as quick as possible.

I shook myself, blinking away memories of the cage and the _training exercise_ , and saw James throw the passports and ID in a little hollow in the wall.

Right, ok. _Don’t pass out don’t pass out stop breathing so heavily that looks really suspicious._

When he came to our room, he didn’t look twice at my still slightly heavy breathing, and I obediently lifted my left arm to the metal bed frame.

‘No, both arms tonight. Madame B’s orders.’ He had a low voice, and a very thick accent.

He chained both of my arms above my head in the middle of the bed frame. I didn’t let myself fidget, at least not while he was in the room.

The second he left, I turned a wide eyed gaze to James, and saw the same horror reflected back at me.

Madame B was onto us.

***

I gave Natalia a very simplified retelling of the events at breakfast the next day.

She face-palmed so many times I was worried she’s poke her eye out. But at the end, she grew serious.

_She knows?_ She signed at me, we didn’t dare even whisper this conversation. Yelena had started ignoring us, so we could be more liberal with the hand signs. 

I tried not to think about how much that stung.

_Suspects. But thats enough for her._ I signed and tapped back.

_Amount money?_

I shrugged. I had caught a glimpse of James’ cash pile when he’s thrown our passports and ID in, but I had no idea how much he actually had.

_ID?_

It was Natalia’s turn to shrug. Great. I didn’t bother telling her she needed to find it ASAP, she knew. 

And then we spent the day trying to act normal. Trying to act like we weren’t planning to escape. Desert. Run away. _Live._

I tried not to get my hopes up too much, we didn’t even know if this escape was going to work. And if I looked too excited, then Madame B would _definitely_ know something was wrong.

And we were on _very_ thin ice already.

***

Things went from _pretty shitty_ to _cloudy with an 100% chance of Hell swallowing us whole_ unexpectedly quickly. 

If we were sticking with Natalia’s schedule, we would leave tomorrow. And it was looking suspiciously feasible that we would be able to stick to the plan.

James had 425,000 Rubles and both of our passports and ID hidden in a black backpack I’d stolen from the equipment room. Compared to Madame B’s office, it was a piece of cake.

All we needed was Natalia’s ID, and we could just _go._

I allowed myself to feel a tiny shred of optimism.

Which of course was when everything went wrong.

‘I’m graduating.’ Natalia told us in a dead voice, in a dead stairwell as she was going to ballet. ‘Today.’

Oh shit. And this was my fault too. My fault for feeling clever, my fault for thinking I could outsmart Madame B.

‘So we go,’ my voice was shaky, words tumbling over each other as I scraped together the semblance of a plan, ‘we go right now, we get the bag, and who needs ID right? There’s gotta be shady people in a city near here who can get you an ID. And then we’ll be fine. We’ll be fine as long as we just go right now and-‘ my voice was getting higher and higher and was this _hysterics?_

‘Anastasia stop!’ Natalia’s hard voice cut me off. ‘You two go. While I’m being operated on,’ her voice trembled the slightest bit, ‘you go when they are distracted with me, and you get as far as you can.’

And James _nodded._

I didn’t even have the words. He grabbed me and pulled me up the stairs.

I’ve always known he was a _coward._

‘Look Stasia,’ he was murmuring to me as we speed-walked up the stairs, ‘if you could just stop being hysterical and actually think, you would know that this is exactly what she needs to hear.’

Mother _fucker._

‘For her to get the operation done, she _needs_ her ID. They take her a private hospital that’s around a two hour drive away, check her in using the ID, and ask for a specific doctor. Then he does that operation, and they drive back.’ He explained. 

‘Ok so, what? We get her when she’s in the truck?’

He raised his eyebrows in a _you tell me_ gesture. Which ok, fine. I could plan.

The truck was probably going to be easier, take out the driver, and you can only fit so many men and guns in a transport vehicle. The area will likely be deserted, and the Red Room will definitely have people stationed at the hospital already.

‘Ok, we get her in the truck.’

***

It was definitely not as simple as that. 

The first complication came when, from where me and James where spying on them through the second floor window, we watched Yelena and Polina carry a limp Natalia out from the back doors of the Red Rood Manor, and then hand her off to the guards who shoved her unceremoniously in the truck.

The second complication came when we watched the extensive process a guard had to go through to be allowed to take the truck and leave the property. Which ruined our chances of stealing a car to keep up with them. Which meant we would have to run to keep up with the car. 

It wouldn’t be a problem, except we would be running with a backpack full of cash, stolen weapons, food, water, and three camping bags. And it would make any chance of a speedy getaway very difficult, especially if we have to carry Natalia.

James flicked me and jerked a thumb at the door. ‘Come on, they’re leaving. We have to go.’

We ran down the staircase, past the first floor and all the way down to the kitchen and laundry in the basement. The people down here were mostly prisoners or were tricked into working here, and we had already bribed the ones more inclined to raise the alarm not to say anything as we slipped out the door.

I hadn’t been outside in _years_. Not since my last mission, which would have been before the training exercise with the Soldier. I glanced at him quickly. We had both changed a lot since then.

It was _freezing_. Snow covered the ground and coated the trees. When I reached out to touch it, the ice crystals crumbled like ashes, cold biting into my fingertips. My cheeks stretched themselves into the first genuine smile I could remember.

‘Stasia,’ James called softly, his eyes looked happy, but his mouth looked sad. ‘Stasia we have to go.’

Right.

And then we were running.

I was wearing a stolen white tac suit, a set of street clothes in the backpack James had on his back. They didn’t have any male tac suits, so James had to wear his Winter Soldier gear. Which, unfortunately, was black.

While I was still fascinated with the snow, I had to admit these weren’t the best conditions to be racing a truck. The snow hid tree roots and hollows in the ground, which slowed us down.

But eventually we got far enough ahead of the truck (thanks enhancements) to set up our jump point.

It was a large section of windy road about half way between the Red Room and the hospital, with the snow built up around each corner, so it was impossible to see what was coming as you went round the corner.

James stood in the trees, a Simonov AG-043 in his hands, ready for when the truck turned the corner. I was on the other side of the road and slightly further down, just in case he missed (not likely) or they decided to run for it.

We heard the truck at the same time, and we made eye contact. He nodded. 

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang._

Driver. Front seat passenger. Wheel. Wheel. Wheel. Wheel.

I winced. Even with the suppressor, the gunshot was still loud enough to be heard by any vehicles tailing the truck. 

The truck went flying into the side of the snowbank, way too close to James for comfort, and I started running up the road. Which was when they started shooting back. They still hadn’t noticed me yet, and James was about ten feet away from them so he was an obvious first target.

But I trusted that James was smart enough not to get shot, so I let him take all their attention as I slid down on the snowbank onto the road, and cautiously approached the black van from behind.

The Red Room guards, unfortunately, were not idiots. They knew their tactical advantage was the blacked out windows of the van, so we couldn’t see what they were doing. So they stayed in the van.

They could have already noticed me, and were just waiting for me to get closer. But there had to be at least seven guns shooting at James right now, and it was unlikely there would be any more inside. 

Even so I stuck close to the ground, and eventually crouched with my back resting up against the van’s back doors. Sticking my hand out to the side of the vehicle, I signalled to James that I was going in.

I shifted my weight, preparing to stand up when-

Metal slammed into my back, throwing me onto the cold tarmac and sending my gun skittering out of my hands and down the road. _Shit_. They had opened the doors.

I didn’t think, just moved. Desperately rolled out of the way of the door and pulled my CZ 75 Automatic out of its holster on my thigh. Got to my feet, spun around, sent a spray of bullets on the crowd of Red Room guards, did a quick headcount and gun check, and took cover behind the van as they retaliated.

8 guards with at least one or two still inside the van, most carrying AK-74s and one carrying an RPG-7. As in, _an anti-tank rocket launcher_. They weren’t taking any chances. I guess it was good we didn’t steal a car. My only vague hope was that in close quarters like this, it wouldn’t be as effective.

Right. Well. Either they attack first or I do.

I heard James start picking off the ones that went round the van, so I knew I was going to start getting some on my side soon.

I sprayed the first few coming around the van with bullets, mentally keeping track of how many I had left. Ran around the truck and jumped the first guard coming around the corner, kicking the hand he had wrapped around the trigger so hard I heard bones break. Wrapped my thighs around his neck and pulled myself up so I was basically sitting on his shoulders, his face mashed into my stomach.

From this handy new vantage point I shot three guards straight through the forehead until I felt a bullet graze past my calf and straight into Guard Bird Perch’s neck. He dropped like a stone and I launched myself off his shoulders at the last guard I could see. 

I rolled and shot him in the forehead before I’d finished moving.

I stood up, tested my weight on the calf, and replaced the empty magazine with the spare one in front, and heard someone coming up behind me.

Too preoccupied with changing the magazine, I turned slowly.

Something metal and very heavy slammed into my right temple so hard I was vaguely surprised it didn’t blow my skull open and shower my brains everywhere. I hit the back of the truck and then the road, ears ringing.

_Move move I don’t care that you’re dizzy you have to move NOW._

Right. Yeah. Moving seems like a good idea. I blinked my eyes open and stared up at the guard and felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in my throat. He had just used the _RPG-7_ like a _baseball bat_. I had just been _bludgeoned_ by a _rocket launcher._

_MOVE NOW._

Oh yeah. I swung my head around, and rolled under the van. From there I snake-crawled, blinking blood out of my right eye, and tried to get the guard with the RPG-7. It took me three tries to take out his ankles, and two attempts to shoot him in the head because of how much the world was swooping around me.

I waited for a moment for the ringing in my ears to stop (it didn’t), and when I couldn’t see any feet walking outside the van, I crawled out from underneath it and steadied myself against the side of the van.

Head pounding, ears ringing, world careening left and right, I blinked dazedly. James came into my sightline. 

‘Hi James. James I’m pretty sure I have a concussion. James I’m pretty sure this is a terrible time to get a concussion.’

He nodded, and told me to _wait right here while I get Natalia and her ID_. I nodded, and then realised that it was a Not Good Thing To Do. I slid down to my knees to stop myself from face-planting on the tarmac and tried to wipe away the warm blood that I could feel pumping out of my temple and running down my face. 

I looked down and saw that my right calf was starting to get soaked with blood. It was also starting to hurt. An annoying, throbbing kind of hurt that was difficult to ignore. At least the idiot who shot me missed the knee.

James came out from the van carrying Natalia over his shoulder and tucking her passport and ID into his bag…some time later. It probably wasn’t a good sign that I couldn’t keep track of time.

I pulled my tac suit over the bullet graze to try and stop it bleeding everywhere, and so making it blatantly obvious as to where we were going.

We swapped guns, the CZ 75 was a handgun whereas his Simonov was an assault rifle, so it was a bit inconvenient to operate when you had an unconscious body slung over your shoulder.

And then we were running. Well James was running, I was just trying to keep up and not smash my face open on a tree or hidden root.

My healing factor was slowly kicking in, my headache was fading to a kind of pounding pressure in my brain, and I definitely wasn’t as dizzy as I was a few minutes ago. And if Hydra had taught me anything, it was to go until I dropped, and then keep going.

So I kept going.

***

We ran all through the night, staying deep enough into the trees it would be very difficult to see us, but close enough to the road so that we could see it, and follow it. 

Because the road had to lead somewhere, right?

Eventually, as the first rays of sunlight were making the snow sparkle, we came across the hospital and a small town in the distance.

I shifted Natalia on my back, me and James had been swapping who carried her throughout the night as we ran, and ran after where James had already darted down the hill.

We gave the hospital a very wide berth, and stayed in the woods which looked over the small town. He walked over, and motioned for me to put Natalia down. He frowned.

‘I think she should have woken up by now, this is enough time for them to have completed the operation and returned back to the Red Room.’ He was worried. Very. And so was I.

What if we had missed something? What if the only way to wake her up was to inject her with something? What if she _dies?_

‘What ifs are pointless,’ I said, because I knew we were both thinking the same thing, ‘we should rest now, wait until she wakes up to go into town, or go one at a time.’

James nodded, ‘If she still isn’t awake this time tomorrow, then we will go into town.’ I glared at him, and he rolled his eyes, ‘ _one at a time._ ’

Wow. Who knew the Winter Soldier could be so sassy? 

I sat down on the ground, running my fingers through the snow. I couldn’t get over how it felt. It was like cryo, but so much _softer_. Lighter. 

He took a hard look at my face. ‘I’m going to check your leg, and that head wound.’

I obediently turned stuck my leg out as he scooted closer to me, fingers lightly touching the area around the graze. The tac suit was soaked through where I’d pulled it over the wound, but there wasn’t _too_ much blood.

When he pulled the suit over gash, all that remained of the gunshot graze was a rapidly healing scab. He raised an eyebrow, and I internally cheered for my healing factor. It was pretty handy.

He then turned his attention to my head and _wow_ , he could be a mother hen sometimes.

‘Dizziness?’

‘For about ten minutes after.’

‘Lost vision?’

‘No.’

‘Headache?’

‘Not as bad as it was at first. Now its like a pounding pressure.’

‘Ears ringing?’

‘Not anymore.’

It went on like that, until he warned me to _stay stil_ l and I suppressed a shiver because _yeesh_ it was cold having snow rubbed on your face and yep ok that hurt, ok that _really_ hurts Jesus Christ James what are you doing _ow ow ow ow._

‘Ok, you’re mostly free of dried blood on your face now, and the cut is healing up quickly. Pretty soon you’ll have an egg on your face.’

He definitely sounded too amused by that last part. ‘I’ll put an egg on _your_ face if you don’t stop looking so smug right now.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Am I free to go, Doctor Barnes?’

It was supposed to be a joke, but he blinked and jerked his head like he’d been hit, and I actually quickly looked him up at down to check he hadn't been shot by a sniper or something. Blood drained from his face and he awkwardly scrambled away from me, scuttling back on hands and feet.

‘James?’ I had no idea what to do. He obviously wasn’t fine at all, he was still pale and sweat was beading on his forehead. His arms were shaking and when a bird took off from a tree a few metres away he flinched. He wasn’t looking at me. He didn’t seem to be looking at anything at all. 

_Right. Do something. Start talking. He looks pretty confused, so maybe lead with where you are._

‘Um James, you’re uh, well I’m not totally sure where we are, but its a forest with snow everywhere. There’s a town down there that looks really pretty. Um, we just got Natalia back, remember we attacked the truck? But she’s kinda unconscious.’ Was this helping? What is even happening here? I wished that Natalia would just _wake up_ , she would know what to do.

I looked at her limp form for a moment. _Wake up please don’t leave me we need you_. 

She didn’t stir.

Right. Ok. ‘Uhhh, you’re James Buchanan Barnes. You asked me to call you Bucky but that’s dumb as hell so. You were a Sargent in the war.’ _What else do I know about him that can’t be it_. ‘You’re not needlessly cruel. You don’t like killing.’ It seemed to be doing something. His eyes were focusing on a spot on the ground just in front of me. His shaking was subsiding. ‘You insist on calling me Stasia, because you’re too lazy for 5 syllables, um.’

He looked up at me. He looked wrecked, exhausted. ‘Um, are you ok?’ Stupid question. But I was lost. What the hell just happened? What was so weird about calling him Doctor Barnes?

He chucked me the backpack. A not-so-subtle _go away and leave me alone for a bit_ Which ok, I could do that.

I wandered off a little distance, and pulled my pair of casual clothes out of the bag and began stripping the tac suit off. It was wet with snow and sweat and the right shoulder was coated in drying blood. Head wounds were a bitch. I unzipped the front and peeled it off my arms and chest, quickly pulling the long sleeved top and jacket I had brought with me. 

The cold was sickeningly familiar, like _cryo._

A tight feeling in my chest, I quickly finished getting changed, shoving the white suit in the backpack and cautiously heading back to James.

He looked better, but was giving off major _don’t talk about it_ vibes. I didn’t even need to be a spy to see that. And I was fine with that too. It scared me, how quickly he had gone from calmly quizzing me on my injury to shaking and cowering away from me.

I gave him the bag, and sat back on the snow as he went to get changed. Ran my fingers through its fluffiness to ease the vice around my chest. 

And then it hit me. Actually hit me. We had escaped. We were gone. Actually gone.

This was what Handler #3 had been trying to give me, all those years ago.

Freedom.

We could whatever we wanted now. We were _free._ We could eat weird fruit and go ice skating and paint and write and plant gardens and live in shitty apartments and drink coffee and make jewellery and go shopping and read books and do quizzes in the newspaper and go to the cinema and listen to music and go to the zoo and do anything we wanted.

And suddenly I felt like I was drowning in possibilities, in choices. There were no missions, nobody telling me what to do and who to fight and what to eat and what to wear.

And that was terrifying. The sheer endless possibilities and decisions stretching out in front in me. There was so much to decide, so much that I didn’t know about myself.

‘We’re going to be alright you know.’ James cut in to my spiralling thoughts, a forced casualness to his voice as he walked back with the bag. ‘We’ll take it one day at a time, one hour at a time.’

That was a nice thought. The concept of _we_. I wasn’t alone, not anymore. But there was one thing I had been thinking about that didn’t make sense.

‘How did you know?’ He frowned at me. ‘I mean, how did you know so much about the operation? I didn’t know it was at a private hospital off site. Or how far away it was, or that she needed her ID.’

‘They told me.’ And ok, being second-best at Hydra I could deal with, but I was _really_ sick of being treated like I wasn’t more skilled and experienced then he was. ‘They didn’t tell you because you were also a student.’

There was something to his voice when he said the last part. Like he was trying to say a lot more. And I felt a sick, dropping feeling in my stomach.

‘James,’ my voice was dead, and I felt like I was a very long way away. ‘James what are you saying.’

But I knew. I knew before he even opened his mouth what he was going to say. ‘You were going to graduate too. Go through the Ceremony. And then come back and keep teaching until the two years were up.’ 

Oh. 

_Oh._

It felt like my brain was stuck, replying what James had said over and over again, as if the words would change their meaning if I thought about it enough times.

But I couldn’t get stuck, not now. Not when we weren’t in a safe place. Not while we were a mere days travel from where we stole the Red Room’s most valuable asset and ran away.

‘What happened? Did you remember something?’ My voice was desperate. Desperate for a distraction. Desperate for something else to think about.

James must have known what I was doing, but he didn’t comment on it. I distantly realised that what I had asked was probably really personal, but I didn’t feel like apologising. If he didn’t want to tell me then he wouldn’t.

But he obviously did. ‘Someone has called me that before.’ And when he said before I knew he meant _before_ , before being captured. Before Hydra. That whole concept still sent me spinning a little.

‘Were you a doctor?’ I asked, just to keep the conversation going. I leaned back against a tree. 

‘No, they said it the same way you did. _Teasing_. And when I was checking your head, it felt liked done that before. Looked after someone. Asked them about what hurt and what didn’t.’

‘What else do you remember?’

‘I was in a war, I think. It was like this a lot of the time. Snowing. Cold. We camped a lot.’

‘Who’s we?’ My voice was hushed. It felt like there was something in the air, like James’ lost memories had a physical weight which filled up the space between us.

‘The papers called us the Howling Commandos.’ That is the dumbest name I’ve ever heard. ‘We were a team, there were seven of us. One of them only spoke French. He was crazy, blew stuff up a lot. This other guy had a killer moustache. We were _friends._ All of us. And I can’t even remember their names.’

It hurt, a little, that James was remembering all these things about him before Hydra. He remembered his name, while I had to be given one. He remembered that he had a _life_ , friends, while when I tried to think back before Hydra all I could remember was six years spent on a table, while scientists poked and prodded and snipped and injected.

‘Who cares?’ James looked at me, startled. ‘Who cares if you can’t remember their names? I didn’t have a name until about a month ago. Names don’t matter, not really. You remembered their _existence_ , their personalities and likes and dislikes. Names are just sound waves, you remembered _them._ ’

‘Wow guys, I pass out for one day and you get all philosophical.’

‘Oh my god _Natalia!_ ’

There she was, amused green eyes blinking at us as she slowly sat up, mouth twisted in a smirk. But behind that, I could see her overwhelming relief that we were here, we had got her before the operation, she was safe.

‘I thought I told you two to leave without me.’

I didn’t even dignify that with an answer. ‘We’ve got spare clothes in the bag for you, and food and water as well. Sorry to rush you, but we _really_ need to move. We’re not that far from where we nabbed you.’

Natalia shook her head. _Nabbed?_ She mouthed in disbelief to herself as she started pulling her clothes out of the bag.

Excitement coiled in my stomach. This was working. We were escaping.

We were doing this.

***

The town was pretty small, but it was a nice atmosphere. We wandered down what looked to be the main street, and randomly talked in Russian to the people passing by. Most just smiled and shrugged at what we were saying, until we finally found someone who spoke Russian.

If she was worried by three people asking where they were and what year is it, then she didn’t show it. She just smiled and answered our questions while her partner gave increasingly loud huffs of impatience beside her.

Turns out we were in Belarus, in a small town called Brest. The main language was Belarusian, and it was February, 1976.

1976\. I was 63 years old.

We quickly thanked her and moved along.

And then stole her car. 

In our defence, we didn’t know it was hers until Natalia found a photo of her and her impatient husband in the glove box.

Natalia shrugged from the drivers seat as she fiddled with the wires. ‘I bet she liked us so much she won’t even mind.’

‘Maybe, but I think her partner would have something to say thats for sure.’ I said, just as the car rumbled to life.

‘Alright! So Yasha, Ana.’ Natalia clapped her hands and smirked at us. ‘Who’s up for a road trip?’

***

**A 14 Hour and 58 Minute Road-trip in Conversations**

‘I don’t want to drive.’ First problem, brought up by Natalia.

‘Oh boohoo Natalia, well I can’t.’ 

‘Neither.’ Valid points, raised by James and I, respectively.

‘Most prized assets of Hydra and _neither_ of you know how to drive?’ An exasperated comment made by someone who knows they’ve just lost the debate

‘People just drove me everywhere.’ A pretentious remark from James.

‘Wow, well I’m glad you had door-to-door chauffeur service when completing missions.’ 

‘Tone down the sass Natty, sheesh.’

‘Ana if you ever call me Natty again I will invert your ribcage.’

‘ _Anyway_ you are still the only person who knows how to drive.’ An attempt to pull the conversation acne on topic by James.

‘I’m getting front seat!’ 

‘Fuck you Stasia.’

‘I still don’t want to drive.’ A feeble protest from Natalia.

‘Too bad _Natty_. Hurry up and get in.’

_5 minutes later_

‘Move your seat up Stasia.’

‘I hope you get sniped and die James.’

‘Whatever.’

***

‘I don’t like this song.’ A comment from James.

‘Ok I’ll skip it.’ 

_23 minutes later_

‘I don’t like song.’

‘But James its the only radio playing music at the moment!’ A valid but ignored point made by me.

‘…’

‘Yeesh ok stop Winter-Soldier-glaring I’m doing it.’

_17 minutes later_

‘I don’t like this song.’

‘Just because you got the back seat Yasha.’ Observation from Natalia.

‘Yeah James stop back seat DJ-ing.’ Tease from me. I think. We were still trying out the whole _teasing_ thing so.

‘You’re a terrible DJ Stasia.’ An incorrect observation from James.

‘But I’m better at DJ-ing then Natalia is at driving thats for sure.’

‘I resent that comment.’ Interjection from Natalia.

‘I resent you.’ Witty comeback from me.

‘I resent the word DJ-ing.’ 

‘I resent _this song_. Stasia! Please!’ Let the record state the Winter Soldier is whiny and demanding.

‘Fine whatever James.’

_26 minutes later_

‘I don’t like this song.’

‘Oh my god James I will kick your ass.’ 

‘Pfffft you probably couldn’t even reach it.’ An unprovoked and unnecessary attack from James.

‘Uh oh. You’ve set her off now.’ A dry observation made by Natalia.

‘ _Was that a short joke?_ ’ A hysterical rhetorical question from me.

‘Oh god-‘

‘ _I’ll have you know that my height did not impair me from completing missions for 26 years more then you-_ '

‘Come on Yasha did you have to say that?’ From a despairing Natalia.

‘ _-and its not my fault you two are a pair of giraffes ok._ ’

‘Ok! We get it! Yasha will not make any more jokes at your height and you will not go to the pitch you just did because I think every dog within a 20 mile radius just pricked up.’ A highly exaggerated comment by Natalia. I didn’t go _that_ high.

_3.5 minutes later_

‘I don’t like this song.’ Guess who said that.

‘You’re going to fucking die right now James.’

‘Agh! Ok! Ok! Holy shit! Natalia can you - _ow!_ \- can you pull over! Stasia is _trying to kill me._ ’

‘Alright! Children thats enough! No fighting in the car!’ An exasperated order from someone who is questioning why she is travelling with these people.

‘Yeah _Stasia._ ’ Blame from James. He started it.

‘I’m like 50 years older than you.’ My valid points are ignored a _lot._

‘Actually you’re - hey Natty what are you doing?’

‘First of all, Yasha never call me Natty again, second I’m pulling over so you two can fight on the side of the road like civilised people.’ A comment which was interesting enough that me and James stopped trying to kill each other.

‘Huh.’ An intelligent comment by me.

‘Alright, get out. You two need to get this whole _who is the Alpha male/female_ thing out of your system. I’m going to sit here and wait.’

‘But I’ve already beat him once so we all know who is the better agent.’ Again, another valid point.

‘Ana! Out! Yasha you too.’ Natalia used her Scary Voice which reminded everyone who heard it exactly how many people she’d killed and how easily she could kill you too.

‘Fine. But I will win.’ A bold prediction from Hydra’s second best asset.

‘Yeah, cause you did so well in our first fight didn’t you James.’

_17.5 minutes later_

‘So who won.’

‘I did.’ A truly surprising result. No one saw it coming. Completely unexpected. Took everyone by surprise.

‘So thats two to Anastasia and none to James.’ Helpful score-take. Well, from James’ glare he didn’t find it very helpful.

‘Whatever.’ 

_32 minutes later_

‘I don’t like this song.’

‘ _Oh my god!_ ’

***

‘Alright folks this is Natalia from the drivers seat of the Assassin’s Van-‘ 

‘ _Ex_ -assassins Van’

‘-officially reporting in the seventh pink car we’ve seen today, repeat the seventh pink car we’ve seen today. Isn’t that amazing Ana?’

‘It sure is Natty. Next up we have James with the weather.’ We really should be radio hosts. 

‘…’

‘I _said_ , next up we have James with the weather.’ 

‘…’

‘Yasha! Weather! Come on Ana hit him I’m driving.’ A command from Natalia which I was all too happy to follow.

‘So _now_ you obey road laws.’ 

‘When have I ever not?’ An innocent remark from Natalia.

‘Oh I don’t know _Natty_ , maybe it was when you drove straight through a red light while screaming you were colourblind-‘ Go me for Valid Points, I should keep count.

‘That was justified.’

‘-or when you drove for about half an hour with your eyes squeezed shut and James directing-‘ Another one. What are up to now? 12? 13?

‘That was _fun._ ’

‘-or when you threatened the old lady crossing the street because she had an odd number of _oranges._ ’ Valid point number 23.

‘That…was mean. I was hungry, _and_ I apologised.’

‘Screaming out of the window _I’m sorry for yelling but your decisions regarding oranges are still shit_ is not an apology.’ Valid point number 79.

‘Whatever.’

‘Shut up! Some of us are trying to sleep.’

‘…’

‘ _James you were sleeping?!_ ’ A statement expressing extreme disbelief from me.

***

‘Ok Natalia if it was me, James and Yelena locked in a basement with you, who would you eat first and why?’ Look, we were bored. It was a road trip. It was time for the Real Questions.

‘Jeez Stasia.’

‘It’s a valid question!’ It was.

‘I would eat Yasha first, he’s more muscular and has more body mass, ergo more energy to be obtained and would keep me going longer. Plus then I get a metal club to beat the shit out of my enemies with.’ A surprisingly in depth response from Natalia.

‘…’ A shocked silence from me and James

‘What?’

***

‘Ok, I’m sick of driving.’

‘Don’t know how.’

‘Neither.’ Have we had this conversation before? I’m pretty sure we’ve had this conversation before.

‘Well, do one of you notorious assassins want to learn?’ A dangerous question from Natalia.

_7.5 minutes later_

‘This isn’t a good idea.’ Observation from James.

‘Shush Yasha you are killing the mood.’

‘Yeah and not helping my self confidence here James.’

‘Ok, so that one’s the accelerator, that one’s the brake. Turn the wheel to steer, flick that if you are going to turn, and flick that one right as we start because its raining so much you won’t be able to see shit.’ Very unhelpful explanation Natalia, maybe next time spend longer than five seconds explaining to someone how to drive a car.

‘Is it harder to drive in rain?’ I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.

‘Ummm, _no?_ ’

‘Great, thats a yes.’

‘You got this Ana.’ Some great encouragement from Natalia.

‘Don’t kill us Stasia.’ Some not-so-great encouragement from James.

‘Ok, ok we’ll be fine. Windscreen wipers on, and if I just press gently here with my f- _oh my god!_ ’

‘Anastasia holy shit! _Check your mirrors before you pull out!_ ’ Important life advice, which probably could have been more helpful before I started driving the car.

‘Well I don’t know! I’ve never done this before!’ Valid point number 275

‘ _Right._ Thats it, I’m walking.’

‘James?’

‘Oh my God really Yasha.’

‘He’s halfway down the road already.’

‘Can I run him over?’ A rhetorical question from me. I was definitely going to run him over.

‘I don’t know Ana, _can you?_ ’ A valid question from Natalia, given the outstanding driving skills I had shown so far, it was entirely possible I would just completely miss him.

‘Probably not.’

‘…’

‘This was a terrible idea.’ A very belated realisation from me.

‘No shit. We’re swapping, the stress is going to kill me before you do.’

‘Fine. Are we going to pick James up?’

‘Pfft, with the attitude he’s got right now he deserves to walk for a little bit.’

‘Bye James!’

‘You guys have got to be fucking kidding me! Hey! _Hey! _Come on Natalia _please!_ ’__

__***_ _

__‘Um I’m pretty sure the car isn’t supposed to be making that noise.’ An astute observation._ _

__‘Are you suddenly a car expert James.’_ _

__‘No Yasha's right for once-‘_ _

__‘ _For once?_ ’_ _

__‘-it hasn’t been making that noise for the previous 14 hours and 53 minutes of this road trip that I’ve been driving.’ A valid point from Natalia._ _

__‘I drove for about five seconds.’_ _

__‘Yeah, and nearly killed two people Stasia. That doesn’t count. Does it need gas?’ Rude James._ _

__‘Nope, three-quarters full.’_ _

__‘Ummmm. Just keep driving?’ A brilliant plan from James. You can see why they never let him plan his own missions._ _

__‘Genius.’_ _

__‘Do you have any ideas?’ Valid question. I wasn’t going to be the one to answer._ _

__‘…no.’ Natalia finally admitted to not knowing something. Stop the presses people._ _

___3 minutes later_ _ _

__‘It got worse.’ Another incredible observation from James._ _

__‘Yeah no shit.’_ _

__‘What do we do?’ As if any of us knew how to fix a car. Oh well, I figured I had to ask. Maybe James picked it up for a mission or something._ _

__‘We drive for as long as we can?’ A suggested solution. Too bad it was dumb as hell. But also the only one we had so, you win this time James._ _

__‘Ok…’_ _

__‘We’re stopping.’ Wow he’s just full of observations today isn’t he._ _

__‘Well I’m not meaning to stop!’_ _

__‘…aaaand we’ve stopped.’ Honestly thank god for James otherwise we would be so lost in the world._ _

__‘Now what?’_ _

__‘Now we walk along this road and hope it leads somewhere relatively quickly.’ A brilliant plan from Natalia._ _

__‘Looks like our road trip just got turned into a walk trip.’_ _

__‘You’re not funny Stasia.’ (I so am)_ _

__‘Just because you’ve got no sense of humour James.’_ _

__‘Children _please!_ ’ A comment from someone who is this close to murdering her two fellow runaways._ _

__‘Wow sorry _Mama._ ’ Great comeback James. Good on you._ _

__‘Ugh I hate walking.’ Who doesn’t._ _

__‘I swear, if the Red Room doesn’t kill us when they capture us I _will._ ’ A plea for death from Natalia._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I have a million disclaimers. 
> 
> I have never: held a gun, shot a gun, shot someone, been shot, carried someone over my shoulder, driven a car, driven a car in the 1970s, had a panic attack, seen someone have a panic attack.
> 
> I know nothing about: Belarus, the little town in Belarus called Brest, guns, Russian guns, Russian guns from the 1970s. 
> 
> if u do and i've got something wrong, please tell me!
> 
> thanks so much to my good old Salty Winter Mother (you know who u are) for turning a half-assed paragraph into literally an entire chapter. seriously. you have her to thank for this chapters existence. 
> 
> iloveyourcommentsmorethanlifeitselfpleaseandthankyou


	4. Markets and Cafes and Libraries oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. Chapter. Kicked. My. Ass.
> 
> There were so many tonal shifts and character development and just aaaggghh.
> 
> so yeah, sorry, I know its been like 4 months. hope everyones staying safe!
> 
> CW: non-graphic suicide attempt at the end of the chapter

We walked.

And walked.

And walked.

Leg throbbing with every step I took, I had this sick, twisted feeling in my stomach. Any sense of security we had from being inside the car, inside that happy little world we had created for ourselves, had stuttered and stopped along with the vehicle. 

Because we had _done_ it. We were out. Properly. With absolutely no long term plan, no form of transport, limited weapons, but still free.

I was still getting used to applying that word to us now, not Targets or Collateral. And so far, despite what Zola and Handlers #1, #2, #4, Madame B and all the people at the Red Room had tried to tell me, it was _good_.

I was free to laugh at the stupid things James and Natalia said, free to actually _feel_ happiness, instead of just observing it. Three hours ago, I didn’t even know what a laugh _felt_ like. Before coming to the Red Room, I didn’t know what happiness even was.

But now I was feeling so many things. Things I couldn’t yet put a name to, like jitters in my limbs that got stronger any time I thought of the Red Room and Hydra, like this tingling sensation in my stomach any time I thought of what we had just _done_. How many possibilities we had in front of us.

The warm feeling that swept through my body whenever I thought about the concept of _us_.

Fear at how defenceless we were now, as we only had two guns between us. Natalia had suggested we leave the Siminov in the car, mainly because it was extremely conspicuous. Me and Natalia had got the two remaining guns, as we figured that James' arm was a weapon by itself.

So we kept walking along the tarmac road, putting more and more distance between us and the horror show behind us.

James told me and Natalia random memories that he knew, and I tried to decide whether I resented it or not. When he told us hazy memories of his mother stroking his hair away from his face and singing him to sleep. Of his younger sister _Bethany? Bella? Betty?_ crawling up into his bed when she could barely walk. Of his father teaching him how to repair the family car.

About going to carnivals and riding roller coasters and blowing valuable money trying to win prizes for pretty girls. 

About the war, how it was cold and dark and _muddy_. About how he had literally ran over dead bodies. Dead friends. About the cat he had met in the trenches and named Rose, because he had needed a reminder that beautiful things still existed. 

But he couldn’t remember any names (except the cat). He couldn’t remember where he had lived. He couldn’t remember what had happened to him when he was captured. He couldn’t remember anything about _himself_. He didn’t what he liked, what he disliked. He just had indistinct, out-of-context images, like if someone showed me a blurry photo of a dead Target and asking me to explain who they were and how the kill was made.

Me and Natalia could tell he was conflicted. Happy he could remember things, scared of what Hydra was capable of, frustrated at all the gaps in his brain.

Unsure of whether or not he should be telling me and Natalia any of this.

Personally, I didn’t know how I felt. Somewhere in my head a small voice that sounded an awful lot like Amy March complained that it _wasn’t fair_. Why did he get to have the amazing childhood, filled with singing mothers and hugs with baby sisters? Why did he get to have memories to escape to? Why did he get the life before Hydra?

But life isn’t fair. It wasn’t fair when Hydra valued him more than me, even when I had been an asset for 26 years longer. It wasn’t fair when everyone at the Red Room had underestimated me.

I felt pity for him, and that was a strange feeling. The bone deep sadness in his eyes when he tried to remember a name, or an elusive detail. While he might have the memories, he also had the gaps in those memories.

Was it better to have known and forgotten, or never known at all.

 _Wow_ that was philosophical. 

When he ran out of memories, I started to tell them stories. I didn’t know shit about my own life, but I could tell them about kind Meg, adventurous Jo, quiet Beth, demanding Amy and rebellious Laurie. About the shows they put on to their mother. About Meg’s trivial complaints of prettier dresses and more money. About Jo’s hot headedness, but how she was fiercely loyal and funny. About Beth’s passion for music and love for her family.

I told them about when they heard their father was sick, they dropped everything to help him. About how Jo cutting off her hair was seen as a huge sacrifice. About how worried they were for him.

I told them about how after Amy had been hit at school, her sisters had comforted her with cats and tears, and her Mother had immediately withdrew her from school.

I didn’t say how shocked I had been to read that. I didn’t say how much I had inwardly craved someone to come in and rescue _me_. How much I wanted to be hugged and cried over and _cared about_.

I didn’t tell them that my mentality of _What would Jo March do?_ had dictated what I did and didn’t do ever since I first read her name. I didn’t tell them how that mentality had been the thing that pushed to escape with them in the first place.

I didn’t tell them how those four sisters and one brother-in-all-but-name were the first time I had ever cared about someone. How they had become my first friends, my first family.

When I couldn’t remember anything else from the book, I fell silent. 

‘Amy sounds like a brat.’ James observed.

I sent my most assassin-like glare in his direction, and didn’t dignify that with a reply.

‘Was their father alright?’ asked Natalia, who seemed to have actually been paying attention to the story.

‘I don’t know. They discovered the book before I could finish it.’ I shrugged like it was no big deal, but it was.

I didn’t tell them that Little Women had been my escape for a very long time. After missions that went badly, with screams and explosions leaving my ears ringing and images of dead children branded into my brain. After sessions in the Lab when I would wake up with information I couldn’t remember learning. After coming out of cryo with my limbs still shaking and whole body aching from the ice inside me.

But I think they knew.

***

Some time later, bright lights emerged on the horizon.

It had gotten dark somewhere between Natalia telling us about how _terrible_ Yelena had been as a spy when she was younger and James lamenting about how expensive cokes were when he bought two for someones birthday.

We stopped on the road. We had been talking for hours, but hadn’t actually _said_ anything ever since we left the Red Room. We didn’t have a plan, had no idea where we were, and they definitely would have noticed we were gone by now.

Lights meant civilisation, and meant a lot of things. It meant information, it meant opportunities. Opportunities to do actual People things other than walk along a dark road and share memories. But it also meant witnesses, exposure. More chance of capture.

Of course it was Natalia who came up with a plan. ‘I say we go in, find out where we are, then catch a train or a bus as far away from here as possible.’

Me and James looked at each other and shrugged. It sounded good enough to me. 

So we kept going, and easily slid on our public masks when the lights turned into shapes, and then into buildings, and finally into cars and street lights. We smiled to passers-by and enthusiastically chatted to each other in Russian about how exciting this trip was so far and _where do you want to go next? I was thinking we should…_

It wasn’t the most imaginative cover story, but no one was paying attention to us. We played the dumb tourist card to some young people on the street, stumbling over each other to explain how much _we love the city, but its so confusing and if you could point us to the nearest train station that would be so helpful._

The group, two sisters and a boyfriend was my guess, gave directions in broken Russian and quickly hurried off. So Russian clearly wasn’t the first language, wherever we were.

But we went to the train station, which was much more helpful. 

We were in Romania, if the language of all the signs was anything to go on. More specifically, we were in Bucharest, the capital.

Which meant we were only an eighteen hour drive from the Red Room, and it had definitely been longer then eighteen hours since we escaped.

 _Escaped_. I still felt a rush of adrenaline whenever I thought of that.

So, now we were at the train station, all we needed to do was catch the train going as far away from Bucharest as possible.

How hard could it be?

***

Very hard, apparently.

‘And it’s _snowing_ as well!’ I yelled in Romanian

I got a glare from a cleaner mopping up vomit some way down the platform, and two muttered death threats in Russian from my travel buddies.

Except we weren’t travel buddies because _we weren’t travelling anywhere._

Step one: blame.

Natalia had obviously also reached this conclusion as well, because she said, ’How did we not realise that you have to _pay_ to get on trains?’

I would have said with a few more choice words and death threats but ok Natalia you do you.

And sure, we could go and get tickets, but that was the last train out of Romania for the day and we had a very pressing desire to get as far away from the Red Room as possible and exactly nowhere to stay.

James held up his hands in surrender, ‘Don’t look at me, the last time I was on a train I zip lined onto the roof and then fell off.’

 _How_ only two out of the seven Howling Commandoes died during the war I have _no idea_.

Natalia wordlessly whacked James in the arm.

Unfortunately for her it was his metal arm, so he could look on in amusement as Natalia swore creatively in Russian and shook her hand out.

And that was another thing about being free. We didn’t have to swallow screams and hide winces when something hurt. Natalia could be as dramatic and vulgar as she wanted.

But we weren’t going to be free for very much longer unless someone, probably Natalia, made a _plan_.

We couldn’t leave Bucharest, not until tomorrow at least, and personally I was not going to spend my first night of freedom sleeping on the streets.

None of us had addressed it, but we all knew that a clock was ticking. That this escape, exhilarating and terrifying as it may be, wasn’t permanent. That it wasn’t a matter of if we were caught, but when.

And I wanted to embrace every single second of freedom that we had.

Go big or go home. And we were not going home.

Not without a fight at least.

***

So we traded in wandering along a dark road in the snow for wandering along a dark road in the snow, surrounded by buildings.

And _people_.

People who I just wanted to walk up to and _interrogate_. How do you live your lives with all these choices? What do you do in the mornings? What do you do for fun? What do you do when you realise everything you’ve been told for 63 years is a lie? What do you do when it all seems too much and you can feel the weight of what you’ve done _pressing down on you crushing can’t see can’t breath can’t think-_

But we were more concerned with asking where we could get a place to sleep for the night. 

A few people looked at us suspiciously, pointed in some vague direction, muttered something and practically sprinted away. Which, to be fair, I was only just realising how bad we looked. 

We were all sweaty, pale, exhausted and terrified. James’ eyes looked shell shocked and panicking, I guess having a lifetime of memories suddenly invade your brain will do that to a guy. I still had blood drying on my leg from when I got shot, and _god_ that felt like _years_ ago. I could barely think past the steady stream of _what just happened what did we just do what do I do what do I do._

Natalia was the only who was functioning enough to actually communicate with people, but even she was shutting down. Her muscles were locked up, she was holding herself so stiffly it felt like we never left the Red Room. 

But eventually we found a really nice pair of brothers who pointed us towards a very suspicious looking apartment building. But we went for it, if things went bad it wasn’t like we couldn’t defend ourselves.

I knew this was temporary. I knew we wouldn’t be able to hide from Hydra and the Red Room for very long, but I would rather be caught having lived like a normal person for a few days then driving through some country I didn’t even know the name of.

We rented some shitty apartment from a questionable old man who kept assuring us that _there were definitely no rats._

We found three within the first five minutes.

So gross.

***

The second day was better. Much better

Some of the paranoia had shaken off, enough that we were going to explore, do touristy things. Natalia drilled us on our covers _we are all tourists who know a little bit of Romanian but we are not fluent_ until I had to yell at her that _yes for fucks sake Natalia we are not dumb I am also a spy you know._

She nodded, and opened the apartment door.

No gunfire, no armed agents outside, no helicopters swooping over us.

I looked over at Natalia and James, and we were off.

Bucharest was _beautiful_. It had architecture that looked as if it had been there since the beginning of time, and flowers were blooming everywhere, even under the snow. Sunlight was making the snow glitter, so much so that the three of us spent ten minutes just staring at the city, breathing in the cold air.

Breathing in _free_ air. 

But in the distance there was a ticking clock. We didn’t know how long we had, but we all knew there was an unknown time limit to our adventure.

So we set off, and began wandering the city, a little aimlessly. The whole place seemed better in the day, and there was something about the sun and the more people that made us feel more like tourists and less like runaways.

We found a market, and Natalia shot us both a smirk, ‘Time to find out some likes and dislikes.’

We were hesitant at first, subtly hiding faces from the stall keepers, double and triple checking everything we said. Silently watching each seller for a few minutes before approaching, cataloguing their mannerisms, their expressions. Listening to that voice in my head born from decades of missions and _torture_ that said to never trust anyone. That everyone had an agenda.

But then James walked right up to an elderly lady selling plums, _low threat level easy to subdue_ , and just struck up conversation. Talking about Bucharest and how beautiful the city was. She introduced herself as Andreea, didn’t ask for his name in return, and soon enough James was laughing as she complained about how her grandchildren would always ‘taste-test’ her plum pie, so much so that she once had no pie left for her customers.

And then he thanked her, took his three plums, and came back to where me and Natalia were staring at him from opposite sides of the market. We had split up, thinking that maybe it would reduce the risk of being caught. 

But he walked straight over to Natalia and offered her one of the fruits, and then looked directly at me and beckoned me over.

I wandered towards them, and then I caught a look at his expression. He looked slightly bewildered, like he had no idea how he did that. It looked almost like habit, routine. He must have talked to a lot of shopkeepers before he was captured by Hydra. Before his life ended.

But James looked _happy_. He looked proud. 

So me and Natalia decided to try. Decided to try and ignore the voice in my head that was screaming to catalogue all exits, all entrances, anyone who could pose a threat. Try and drop the mask, try and figure out what being _me_ actually meant.

Try and figure out who Anastasia was. 

We turned the market again, as a group, and tried to have fun.

And we definitely achieved that.

We bought one of everything, laughing at each other as we struggled to carry the mountains of fruit and vegetables, until we stumbled to a bench.

Turns out James is a _pussy_. He refused to eat anything until after me and Natalia had tried it first. He is also a _heathen_ because he ate three tomatoes like they were _apples_.

Natalia got obsessed with grapes and I had to chase her around the park so I could have more than _one_. Then we wasted an entire bag by pelting them at each other and then, when he tried to intervene, at James.

When Andrei, the elderly blueberry seller, told us the current town record of number-of-blueberries-in-mouth was 88, I took that exactly as it sounded. A challenge.

To horrified looks from Natalia, James and Andrei I fit 102 blueberries in my mouth, and got my name written down on black board in pink blocky font on the store front. I was riding such a high that it only occurred to me later that having my real name written down in a fairly obvious place was _not_ a good idea if you were trying to hide.

I thanked Andrei, and then sprayed James and Natalia both with juice as I crushed all 102 in my teeth. 

James can get shot and not even blink, but sprayed with blueberry juice and he is halfway down the street and squealing before you can say _Bucharest._

We went to about five cafes to try every single meal we could get our hands on. Natalia nearly vomited when she tried sweet milk, but decided that smoked salmon and scrambled eggs were the food of the gods. Her eyes were still rolling when we pulled her out of the cafe. I declared coffee was for heathens with no soul and no will to live, so obviously James adored it. I discovered my severe sweet tooth and got obsessed with Papanași, which is basically a donut with jam and soft cheese. 

If that doesn’t sound like heaven, then I don’t want to go there.

James had so much coffee his metal arm started sparking, and the coffee seller was starting to shoot concerned looks at us and the eight, _eight_ , empty cups of coffee in front of us and yes, they were all James’.

But Natalia lobbed a charming smile in his general direction as we dragged James away from the caffeine, and hopefully we were forgiven.

After our lunch break, we still had the trinkets market to explore.

We used our super stealthy assassin skills to steal little trinkets and figurines from stalls. Natalia unnecessarily proved she was the best thief by actually making off with an entire _carpet_ while the shop owner was _ripping_ into James for walking into the side of the tent. 

The store keeper also didn’t notice when she returned it about 15 minutes later.

I stole a tiny porcelain snail, no bigger than my little fingernail, and shoved it in the innermost pocket of my shirt. It was cute, and a tiny little memento of our trip for when we got recaptured. James got caught making off with a silver teapot, mainly because he accidentally whacked it against _his own arm_ , and I’m pretty sure even the Red Room could have heard the resounding clang.

He got a very stern talking to by the stall owner, during which me and Natalia tried to contain our laughter that a 60 year old woman wearing about eight heavy metal necklaces and bangles up and down her arms was lecturing a Russian assassin on breaking the law.

But either way we managed to escape the market without being arrested, which would not have been good for laying low, and went out to venture the rest of the city.

And found a _library._

It was beautiful. 

Huge marble pillars and a hard floor that made our footsteps echo. The whole building would have seemed cold and imposing if it wasn’t for the walls and walls and _walls_ of books. Piled on shelves so high there were ladders on the side so you could reach them all. Sunlight streaming in through the huge windows that opened out onto the rest of the city.

Both the Hydra bases and this library were built out of stone, but it was amazing how much difference a little _light_ could make.

Of course it wasn’t just the light. It was the dark wooden bookshelves everywhere the eye could see. It was the warm bulb light chandeliers which lit every room. It was the teal green accents and the incredible gold detail on the ceilings. But most of all, it was the _people_.

The two women, probably sisters, picking out books for each other in the corner. The elderly couple sitting, hand in hand, reading together. The three kids squealing as they played tag between the tall shelves. The man sitting quite literally on the edge of his eat, eyes fixed on the pages in front of him. The teenager sitting in the corner, crying quietly over whatever book she held in her hands.

It was the emotions these people had, the feelings that seeped into the walls and made the whole place feel alive.

I wandered between rooms letting the thick carpet and the books soak up any noise I made, making everything, even the constant fear of capture, of _torture_ , feel muffled and far away. Running my finger across the spines, feeling the wear and tear of well loved volumes, the crispness of new ones.

I didn’t know where James and Natalia were, and I didn’t really care. I knew they were somewhere in the building, people watching or looking at books of their own. Or just soaking in the library itself, like me.

And thats when I saw it. Completely by chance, swamped by the bigger books next to it. It was like destiny, if you believed in that kind of thing.

Its red spine tattered, gold words printed on the side.

Fiicele doctorului March.

Little Women.

My first taste of freedom before I even knew what that truly word meant. My first act of defiance, of rebellion. All thanks to Handler #3, who I killed. Killed because I was told it was necessary. Killed because back then I didn’t question orders. Killed because I believed _freedom_ was unacceptable, dangerous.

But here it was, again. Like a tiny sign that things might turn out alright. A tiny breath of _hope_. 

Because if we could evade Hydra long enough for me to finish this book, for me to actually achieve something by myself, maybe all of this fear would have been worth it.

It was easy to steal. There were no cameras, nobody watching and I just walked right up to it. Slipped it into my jacket where it sat, a comforting weight next to my heart.

And I felt lighter. It wasn’t _happy_ , not exactly, but it was like after a long mission and I got to rest, like my body was shedding 100 ton weights.

I kept wandering the halls of books, half-heartedly looking for Natalia and James, but more interested in what other stories these shelves held. Because if one book could feel like _home_ , even in the middle of a Hydra compound, what could I do with two? Or three? Or more?

I followed the sound of Natalia’s low, Russian-accented Romanian and James’ throaty laugh until I found them, squished together on the one soft green seat, whispering to each other. Probably making guesses about their fellow library goers based on their not-so-subtle looks at the people around them.

Well, not-so-subtle to me anyway.

They looked comfortable with each other, trusting. Bathed in warm light, swamped by the rich green colours and deep dark bookshelves. Smiling.

So different from cold fluorescent lights and ballet shoes and the chill of handcuffs on skin. So different from guarded looks and the constant bone-deep urge to be the best be the best be the best. 

So different from when every fight ended in death.

I wandered over to them and sprawled over the back of their chair, closed my eyes and let the soft fabric swallow me whole. Letting my guard down, just for a second. 

I couldn’t tell you how long we were in that library, soaking in the sounds and sights of _people_ , people just living their lives, living freely. 

But eventually we felt uneasy, restless from being in the same public place for so long. We couldn’t ignore that instinct born voice to _keep moving keep running they are coming for you._

It was just so hard to stay _still_. So hard to stop running.

We headed back to the apartment, to _our_ apartment. Walking through the quiet streets, not scanning for snipers nests, not looking over our shoulders, not stalking a Target. Just walking, enjoying the quiet, the birds in the trees, and low mumble of voices from a group of teenagers slightly ahead of us.

When our apartment building came into view, it didn’t feel like another building. I felt a rush of _something_ go through me. A rush of safety, of familiarity. We’d only been here for a day, but already I felt safer in that apartment than I had in the most secure Hydra base.

On the floor where our apartment was, my home was, we could see a woman talking enthusiastically to a cat across the hall from her doorway.

‘Come on _Briose_ , we can’t bother the nice people’s apartment. Come here you little devil. You always were a stubborn- oh hi there!’

She’d just seen us come up the stairs, and looked slightly embarrassed. Most of her body was still in her own apartment, only her head poking out. She looked like she was trying to stop something from escaping. More cats if the several colours of fur on her jumper were anything to go by.

‘Briose’ seemed to be a light brown and white speckled cat, who seemed to be very interested in our apartment door.

‘Sorry about him. I would go get him, but I’ve got about 5 other cats behind this door who would love to go out and get into trouble tonight. I’m Mihaela by the way.’

‘Hi there. I’m Natasha, this is James and Ana.’ 

I waved when my name was said, and tried to think of what else to say, I hadn’t actually had a conversation with someone since escaping, apart from buying food at the markets. James seemed to have that covered though. Benefits of having memories of having an actual life.

‘I can get your cat for you, if you like.’

Mihaela smiled and nodded, and soon James was hesitantly approaching the cat like it was a wild tiger. Me and Natalia giggled to each other, and I was pretty sure he hadn’t actually thought through that offer when he asked.

Carefully, like he was holding a bomb instead of a slightly disgruntled feline, James picked up the cat. Immediately it curled around him and nestled into the crook of his neck. 

I looked over at Natalia, and she had a soft smile on her face. Seeing James snuggled up to this random lady’s cat made me realise that we could have a cat. We could have twelve cats, seven dogs and a lizard if we wanted.

We could do whatever we wanted.

But then it all came crashing down. Because we couldn’t do whatever we wanted, not really. Because all of this was temporary. 

James gave Mihaela her cat back, and waved to the five other cats causing a ruckus behind her. Before she could shut the door, Natalia quickly hurried over and flashed a sheepish smile. After a small conversation punctuated by light laughs and negotiations, Mihaela invited Natalia in.

Me and James stared at each other in the hallway for a few seconds, wondering what the hell Natalia was doing, before she emerged again, holding four bottles of Țuică, a Romanian alcohol, triumphantly above her head. 

She mock-curtsied and me and James dutifully applauded her superiority.

The apartment had come with three questionable chipped mugs, and a mattress with weird stains, but we rinsed them out in the sink and decided to trust that our various enhancements would stop us from dying from tetanus or something.

When James boldly pointed out that Natalia technically didn’t have any enhancements, she just raised an eyebrow and say ‘I’m not dying from any disease.’

Neither James or I were brave enough to point out the flaws in that plan, and Natalia filled our mugs to the brim with the clear liquid.

‘Cheers fellow assassins,’ she said, we clinked mugs, and I downed the whole thing in one gulp. It didn’t taste like much, but the second it hit my stomach it warmed my whole body.

Natalia was already grabbing my mug out of my hands and refilling it. ‘We’ve gotta get a lot of alcohol in both you and James’ system before you are going to feel _anything_.’ 

I didn’t question how she knew that, and besides I wanted to know what being drunk actually felt like. We had already ripped through one bottle, and Natalia was cracking open the second to refill her own glass.

We clinked mugs, James said, ‘To eventually having a cat.’ Natalia laughed, and we all downed our drinks again.

I’d never been drunk before, and before this second I didn’t think I could because of the serum. But I guess a few mugs full of 40% alcohol liquor downed in one swallow is enough to get even me pretty tipsy.

Some voice in the back of my head, that was becoming increasingly distant as the alcohol began to take affect, was telling me how dangerous it was to leave myself so exposed, especially with Hydra on our tail. But I found that right now, I couldn’t care less. 

We danced around the bare apartment to some weird music the person above was blasting, and James impressed both me and Natalia with his dance skills. We twisted on the wooden floorboards and Nat actually got up on the kitchen bench and performed a whole ballet routine to a low, crooning song about loving and losing someone. That is, she performed almost a whole ballet routine before she fell off the bench and James used his assassin skills to catch her.

I was laughing so hard I collapse on the floor because apparently that was the funniest shit that had ever happened, holding my stomach and feeling about two seconds from throwing up. 

Natalia crashed first. I had no idea what time it was or how long we’d been dancing for, but eventually she stumbled onto the crusty mattress in the corner of the room and fell fast asleep.

I was starting to sober up, but I didn’t want this night to end, not yet. Me and James sat across from each other, passing the only remaining bottle between the two of us. 

‘Is it hard?’ I slurred out eventually, eyes half-closed, head leaning against the wall.

‘Is what hard?’ James asked, smirking a little at me. He didn’t get nearly as drunk as me or Nat did, even though we drank the same amount. He got the better serum after all.

‘Having all those memories of what you did before Hydra? And knowing that there are still things that you don’t remember?’

James took a long drink of the Țuică before he said anything, which seemed to me like an answer in itself. ‘Yeah,’ he croaked out, eyes far away. ‘Yeah it is. I don’t remember anything important, but that feels intentional, you know?’ I didn’t know, but I nodded along anyway. ‘Its like they worked really hard to make me forget important things, like my parents names, my sisters name. My friends’ names. Where I lived, where I went to school.’

‘Anything that would help you rebel against Hydra.’ I mumbled to the wall. I don’t even think he heard me.

‘And there’s something _else_ ,’ he passed me the bottle and stood up, pacing back and forth in frustration. I took longer and longer drinks from it as he ranted. ’Something or _someone_ else so important but I can’t remember _anything_ about them. With my parents at least I have some memories, or a feeling of safety, of love. But its like there’s a blank spot in most of my memories.’

‘Like they worked really hard to make you forget someone.’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

We were quiet for a few minutes then, James still standing, lost in his own thoughts of the past, or his mystery person. 

I had given up trying to imagine what it would be like to have memories of before Hydra. I just imagined what life could be like after. An idealistic world where we were never caught. Maybe we would go back to America, try and figure out James’ past. Maybe we would go to Egypt and ride along the Nile, or Australia and visit the Sydney Opera House and hold koalas. 

We could get a cat for James, a plant for me. I could work at a local cafe as a waitress, Natalia could work at a bar. Maybe we could get an education, somehow. Get a proper career. We could own a house with a pool and a balcony. We could live near the sea, taste the salt on the air each morning. Go for a swim in the water.

‘Anyway,’ James seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts, ‘I have loads of good memories too. Memories of Mum, of Dad. Of laughing in the snow with Mystery Man-‘

I snorted. ‘ _Mystery Man?_ Thats what we’re going to call the blank spot in your memories?’

‘Well do you have any other suggestions?’

I gestured widely with the bottle. ‘How do you even know it’s a man?’

His eyes turned soft, ‘I just do. _And_ I have memories of dancing. I used to go dancing a lot, ever since I was a teenager. Take a girl, sometimes two,’ he winked at me roguishly, ‘and just dance the evening away.’

I threw the bottle cap at him. ‘Yeah I _know_ , you certainly killed it on the dance floor tonight.’

‘But you didn’t so come on,’ I groaned and whines as he made me put down the bottle and pulled me to my feet.

‘I’m tired though.’ 

‘Well, no one said it had to be fast dancing. Here you just, put your hand, _no_ not there-‘

James began to manhandle me into a dancing position, putting my left arm up around his shoulder, wrapping his metal arm around my waist and holding my right hand in his. 

He began to step back and forth, swaying to some tune only he could hear. I stumbled along, treading on his toes more times than I could count. He chuckled at my stuttered apologies, and made some comment that I couldn’t entirely hear about how I was good at international terrorism and assassination but couldn’t even slow dance.

Eventually my head dropped onto James’ shoulder and my eyes closed. I stopped trying to move my feet and we started just swaying on the spot.

Then James began to sing. I felt it rumble through his chest before I actually heard it, and what do you know the Winter Soldier can sing. 

_On a night like this_

_If dreamers are made of imagination_

_Im not afraid of my own creation._

He stopped abruptly, and the sudden change woke me up slightly from where I was falling asleep on him. I vaguely realised his metal arm must be taking most of my weight, because I certainly wasn’t supporting myself at all.

I looked at him in the darkness, his face silhouetted by the bright streetlights outside the apartment. But I didn’t need to see his face to know that he wasn’t with me. He was in some dance hall, or maybe his own house, dancing with someone else before Hydra.

I lightly pinched him on his arm, his flesh arm, and he looked at me. I raised an eyebrow in question.

‘Sorry, its just,’ he visibly recomposed himself, ‘I taught my sister to dance to this song in our living room.’

He seemed like he was about to keep talking, so I lay my head back on his shoulder.

‘She and her boyfriend were going to go dancing that weekend. He was her first boyfriend, and _god_ she was so nervous,’ he chuckled lightly. ‘It was raining so heavily outside, and she asked me to teach her how to slow dance. So we we moved all the furniture out the way and that song came on the radio. At the end of it she hugged me, and told me I was the best brother ever. And then when she came home from her date that weekend, she said that I needed to teach her boyfriend how to dance as well because he was so bad.’ I could tell he was smiling, and I was smiling too.

He sounded so genuinely happy, so proud. His sister is probably still alive, whoever and wherever she is. Maybe in my ideal world, we would go find her. Maybe they would dance to this song again.

‘You can keep singing, if you want.’ I murmured into the fabric in his shoulder, and he did.

_Music in the night, a dream that can be heard_

_Isn’t it romantic?_

_Moving shadows write the oldest magic word._

_I hear the breezes playing in the trees above_

_While all the world is saying you were meant for love_

_Isn’t it romantic._

***

We were careless. Drunk on our own freedom. Thinking we were on top of the world. We were paranoid, but not paranoid enough. We weren’t listening. We had stopped paying attention to the whispers of the espionage world. We missed it when Hydra and the Red Room sent out a reward for us. We missed it when people talked. We missed all the clues.

The first clue was the following morning, when we couldn’t hear Mihaela chatting to her cats through the thin walls.

The second clue was when Andrei wasn’t selling his blueberries at the market, or sipping coffee at his go to coffee cart.

The third clue was when the cafe was slightly busier than usual, despite the fact that it was a Monday.

We missed all those clues.

We weren’t entirely ignorant though. Natalia had booked us four train tickets, in case booking three tickets went on the Red Room’s radar, to Budapest, with the train leaving at 11. I would finish reading Little Women then.

But until 11, we had the city to ourselves. Or so we thought.

We went to Cismigiu Gardens. A sprawling, 17 hectare piece of land covered with 30,000 trees and plants brought in from the Romanian mountains, and exotic plants fetched from the botanical gardens in Vienna, according to the brochure at least. And it definitely didn’t disappoint. Even in the snow, each plant and tree was so distinctly different from the last, delicate leaves frozen in ice.

We saw the Roman Garden, which was laid out in the style of Ancient Rome. Something James confirmed, as he had done a mission there a few years ago. We didn’t talk much, not wanting to disturb the silence in the garden. 

Nat giggled, actually _giggled_ , when she bumped a branch with her head and snow coated her like confetti, bright white against her red hair.

James smiled at her warmly, blue eyes crinkling in amusement. That is, until she picked up a clump of snow and threw it straight at his face. His eyes went comically wide and his mouth dropped open, before he smirked.

‘Oh it is _on_.’

What followed was the most intense, and only, snowball fight I had ever engaged in. We put every hard won skill and instinct we had learnt at Hydra and put it to the most tactical snowball fight that has ever been fought.

We dodged and weaved through plants and trees. I slipped on snow too many times to count as I tried to change direction too quickly, and we all used several very annoyed human shields.

I snuck up behind James and shoved snow right down the back of his neck, celebrating momentarily before I was hit so hard with snow from Nat that I was knocked flat on my back in the ice crusted grass. 

‘Agent down! Agent down!’ I wailed, rolling around and clutching my chest as if I’d been shot. I watched from the ground as James and Natalia had a snowball showdown, until eventually Natalia nailed James right in the crotch, and he keeled over in the grass. 

Nat did a victory dance over James’ prone body, and I knew she was going to be bragging about this for the rest of the day at _least_.

We saw some people skating on the frozen lake, and me and Nat immediately wanted to try and skate too. We had to walk all the way around it to get to the shack that was renting out the skates, and spent some of our rapidly dwindling money to rent some skates for a few hours.

I wasn’t bad, actually. Nat, of course, was the best thanks to her years of ballet training. But James was absolutely _terrible_. He was hesitant at first, worried that if he fell over this metal arm would crack the ice, but me and Nat eventually bullied him into it. 

Eventually my confidence got up and I was almost able to keep up with Natalia, who was now showing off by skating backwards and attempting to do spins and skate one legged. 

It felt like _flying_. Soaring along the ice, cold air rushing in my ears, biting into my skin. My eyes watered against the wind, but I just wanted to go faster. To leave all this behind and go flying above the trees, swooping and diving through the clouds. 

Nat built up enough momentum to grab both my hands as she went soaring past, spinning us both around and around on the ice. The world went burry, the only thing in focus was her bright green eyes peaking through waves of red hair. 

That is, until my ice skate caught an edge and I completely lost my balance, my legs whipping out from underneath as I went skidding over the ice, my hands scraping.

James laughed so hard at the two of us that he had to sit down right on the ice to recover. I couldn’t get over hearing Hydra’s mots fierce assassin, most prized assassin, laughing his ass off at me and Natalia. 

No missions, no targets, no handlers. Just us in the snow. Three people, three _friends_ , enjoying the afternoon.

It was nice

***

They got us when we were walking back to our apartment, back home. It was like a tiny parting gift, _at least we got to go ice skating_.

‘And James you were so _bad_ I am actually embarrassed for you!’ I snorted as James’ face steadily got redder and redder as we poked fun at his terrible ice skating skills.

‘And…and Yasha when your arm…when your arm fell _through!_ ’ Natalia was wheezing, using James’ shoulder to hold herself up as she struggled to get the sentence out between snorts.

Which of course set me off howling again, and I swear James’ lips were twitching just a little at the memory.

‘Ok I wasn’t-‘

It was the tiniest shift in the air. Something born of a combination of instinct and decades and decades of training. Something that was so ingrained into me it felt as if it was carved into my _bones_.

Someone was aiming a gun at us.

‘ _Get down!_ ’ I screamed, just as the air exploded with sound and bullets and screams.

We were in the middle of the _street_ for crying out loud. But Hydra didn’t care about subtlety, not anymore. They wanted their assets back and they wanted them _now._

I could already feel my brain shutting off, locking down on my thoughts, my emotions.

Because in a fight like this, there isn’t time for thinking, or emotions, or pain. Theres only training, instinct, and a whole heap of luck.

We were in a bad position. Exposed, in an alley to the side of the street. Easy to trap us here, between the buildings. Can’t go to the roof, thats just as exposed. A window would work.

I was halfway up the building and smashing open a window before I realised I was part of a _team_.

A glance back showed they were both fine, and both following me up the side of the building. So I pulled myself over the broken window ledge, and started running.

The building was an office building of some kind, with obstacles like desks and whatever you call those office divider things. They slowed me down, but it blocked any snipers and bought me a few seconds.

That was until I burst out the other side and was met with Hydra guards and Widows in training. Must have gone around the building.

No. Stop thinking. Start reacting.

I pulled my CZ 75 out of my jacket, and began returning fire at them as I ran.

Go to the market. Hide in the people. Trust that James and Natalia are managing.

But I wasn’t up against a couple of dumb Hydra foot soldiers. I was up against _Widows_. Widows that I’ve trained. Trained them to follow people. Trained them to kill.

And now they were going to kill me.

_NO. No they won’t._

The market passed in a blur. Dodge that person. Duck under those hanging carpets. Jump over that desk. 

Run. Run. Run.

People had started screaming, and I could hear gunfire behind me. That would be the Hydra agents. It was common protocol when chasing someone with whole you were in semi-close quarters with but had no specifics on their location.

Firing into civilians would mean they would either hit me by chance, or play up on any selflessness I had. 

That tactic worked wonders on Captain America, but it wasn’t going to do shit for me. I had fought so hard for this freedom, and I wasn’t going to give it up for anyone. 

And then I was suddenly in open air. _Shit_. That was the end of the market. If I was far enough ahead I could maybe bend into the crowd but they were _right behind me_ and there wasn’t enough time to make a plan other than _run run run run_.

A glance backwards showed I had at least a dozen Hydra agent and three widows behind me. And behind all of them I could see the shine of a metal arm and a shock of red hair being thrown into seperate black vans.

Natalia and James were gone. Not just recaptured, but _gone_. Dead. Because if I ever saw them again they wouldn’t be James and Natalia anymore. Not to themselves, and not to me.

I didn’t have nearly enough bullets to fight my way out of this.

They were going to _destroy_ us.

Destroy everything we had established here, remove everything I knew about myself. I was going to forgot how to ice skate, that James loved coffee, that I held the record of most-blueberries-in-mouth, that Natalia loved bright jewellery. They were going to take away the luxury of _choice_ that we were still getting used to. The luxury of _freedom_.

They were going to reshape me. Break me down and rebuild me to be the thing _they_ wanted. They were going to make me kill and kill and kill.  
But not before they made me wish I was dead for disobeying them. For running away.

The agents were closing in, I was the last rogue standing. The last stain on their reputation. The last grain of defiance.

I didn’t have enough bullets to kill all of them.

But I had enough.

Enough for one.

 _I would do anything not to go back to Hydra._

Natalia and James would never even know. Because they wouldn’t know me, and I wouldn’t know them. We would almost certainly never see each other again.

So what did I have to lose?

(And a tiny, tiny part of me thought about that Little Women book sitting at the top of my bag, waiting to be read. About how that wasn’t just a book anymore, not to me.)

But I had to. I couldn’t go back to Hydra. I just _couldn’t._

Three short movements.

Press the gun under my jaw.

Squeeze my eyes shut.

And pull the trigger.

 _Bang_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so basically I realised about an hour before posting that Romania was actually communist during this time, and so life there generally sucked. buuuuuut we can just ignore that right?????
> 
> also ive never been to Bucharest and I dont speak Romanian so if any of this is incorrect please let me know!!
> 
> the song James sings is 'isn't it romantic?' by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart. really beautiful song released in 1932, so I can definitely see Bucky dancing to it pre-war.
> 
> the cats name Briose means muffins in Romanian, which is absolutely adorable.
> 
> the next chapter...will come! at some point. it may be a while but I promise that I will not abandon this work!
> 
> yourkudosandcommentsrestoremywilltolivepleaseandthankyou
> 
> love y'all.


	5. Oh Ana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anastasia does...not have a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!! Anastasia's not dead, and neither am I!!
> 
> I have. no excuses. sorry. 
> 
> ANYWAY. this is like, 9,000 words of straight up torture with no happy ending in sight. so if you are looking for a comfort chapter, maybe read the last one again??
> 
> chapter title is of course from the song 'Oh Ana' by Mother Mother. 
> 
> warnings: implied threat of rape, nothing is said outright and ists very brief. graphic torture. reference to past suicide attempt (one at the end of last chapter).

It was cold. Cold underneath me. Cold bars across my shoulders, my hips, my feet. Cold air rattling in and out of my lungs, tasting muggy and damp and of underground. If I opened my eyes I knew exactly what I’d see; dark stone walls, metal contraptions, white fluorescent lights. The inside of a Hydra facility. Inside a Hydra lab.

But I couldn’t open my eyes. Couldn’t even twitch a finger. 

But I was _alive_. How was I still alive?

It hadn’t worked. I felt a hysterical laugh build in my chest, only to gurgle and die in my throat. I had _shot_ myself _in the face_ and still couldn’t escape capture. Couldn’t escape Hydra. 

So now I was theirs again. Their little pet assassin, their possession. But the funny thing was, I wasn’t afraid. Yes, they were going to torture me and break me and turn me back into _Ghost_ again, but I had still won. I had shown them that they couldn’t control my thoughts or my actions, not all the time.

I had won. It was a minuscule victory compared to the decades and decades of death I had caused, had been manipulated and brainwashed and _tortured_ into causing, but it was still a victory. Because maybe they could make me forget, forget that I rebelled, forget that I ever went against Hydra. But _they_ never would.

And that felt good. It felt good to have shown them that they couldn’t control me, not all the time. 

Then I heard people enter the room. Lots of heavy boots, smelling like sweat and gun oil. Soldiers. The light _tap tap_ of expensive shoes. The scientists. The quiet metallic squeal of machinery being wheeled across stone floors.

And I couldn’t do a thing to stop them, couldn’t even speak. 

‘Well hello there, little runaway _Anastasia._ ’ Drawled a scientist, his voice sickeningly sweet and sticky like honey, pouring over my arms and legs and throat. They knew my name. The gift I had been given, one I could never repay. The name that James and Nat called me while we roamed the streets of Romania. And now they were going to twist it and _ruin_ it. 

I knew how this was going to go: first there would be punishment , which was torture, and then there would be recalibration, which was torture with a _purpose_.

Which, according to Hydra, was an important distinction. 

I had tortured to extract information before, and he followed the same script they had given me in training. You lay out all the stakes straight away, you tell them that all of this isn’t necessary, they could easily make it all stop if they did this or confessed to that. 

You tell them that it’s their fault this is happening. That they are in control of how this interrogation goes. 

Which is all bullshit, but anyway. He asked all the basic questions, like _what were you thinking_ and _who’s idea was it to run_ and _how could you have manipulated and destroyed both our best asset and the Red Room’s best student_.

Well, that last one wasn’t really a question, but anyway.

And all I could do was lie there and take it. I don’t know _why_ he bothered asking me questions now, when he was fully aware I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t even know what he looked like, couldn’t see what expression he was wearing, if he was angry or satisfied or excited. 

His voice was so irritating. He spoke like he was a father teasing his daughter, instead of a sick torturer taunting his victim.

Because thats what I was now, a victim. I wasn’t an assassin, I wasn’t an asset. I wasn’t an escapee or a refugee. I was a prisoner.

Was he a father? Did he have a family? Did they know what he did as a day job? Did he go home after ripping people open and watching them _suffer_ and eat roast potatoes with a loving wife, three kids and a dog?

I may not be afraid, but now I was _angry_. Because I had that freedom now, the freedom to feel things, to experience the hot flash of anger, the bitter taste of hatred, like acid on my tongue, in my veins.

I wanted to _kill _him. To _hurt_ him. For everything Hydra had done to me, to James. For everything he was about to do.__

But then someone plunged a knife in my thigh and _twisted_ , like a key turning in a lock. There was no warning, I had missed the quiet noise of metal against cloth, the sound of a knife being picked up. And all my flesh and sinew and muscle twisted with the knife, and for a minute I couldn’t even _think_. The pain radiated up and down, like my whole leg was on fire 

_It’s ok it’s ok breathe breathe breath it’s ok it’s ok its not that bad you’ve had worse keep breathing it’s ok._

_Over the roar of blood in my ears I could hear him _laughing_. ‘I don’t think Anastasia is listening to me!’ he said like he was _proud_. Proud to have some justification to start the punishment, start the torture. _

__

I couldn’t even scream. Couldn’t even thrash around or curse them out or flinch. Whatever they had given me to keep me on this table was effective. I had gone from having every possibility in the world laid out in front of me, to not being able to even control my own body. 

__

Which I guess was the point they were trying to make. 

__

‘Anastasia, I want you to listen to me when I’m talking to you.’ 

__

__I felt him lean over me, and I hated it. Despised not knowing how far away his face was from mine, despised not knowing how many guards were in the room or what they were going to do to me, or how they had brought me back and what they had done with James and Natalia. Despised the throbbing in my arm that sent my head spinning and my heart pounding with adrenaline._ _

__

__Hated how vulnerable I felt. Hated how chillingly intimate the feeling was._ _

__

__‘Who’s idea was it to escape.’ He crooned, voice like oil sliding over my skin and sinking into my body, into my _bones_. So, we were going with the classics then. Repeat one question over and over and over, for days or weeks or months, until you got the desired answer. Then you move on to the next question._ _

__

__Classic, but effective._ _

__

__But then I heard the sound of footsteps retreating, and the air in front of me cleared slightly. He had stepped back, and suddenly all of the other scientists, I guessed there was about four or five, also stepped back. They were leaving._ _

__

__No, not leaving. They were still in the room, but they were just letting me think over the question. Which was good, because I needed to decide how I wanted to play this._ _

__

__It was inevitable they were going to break me. That, whether it be in a week or a month or a year, at some point I would become the Ghost again, and I would be carrying out missions. Or I would be dead. But right now it was a question of how long it would take for them to get me there, and how easy I was going to make it for them._ _

__

__And I wasn’t planning on making it easy for them._ _

__

__***_ _

__

__They left me on that table, immobile, 17 hours and 46 minutes._ _

__

__But they never left. Through those long 17 hours, I could hear them setting up equipment, the clinks and whirs of machinery. The groans of rusty gears. The quiet flick of a fingernail on a syringe. The air around my body shifted as they placed _things_ around me. _ _

__

__But they never spoke. Never said anything to each other, never even coughed, sneezed or cleared their throat. I had no idea what was about to happen. No idea what they were going to do to me._ _

__

__My lower back started aching after 3 hours and 57 minutes, and the backs of my legs and my shoulders went numb from the cold of the table after 6 hours and 32 minutes. They had pulled the knife out of my leg and blood was drying, tacky and thick, on my leg and the table._ _

__

__But it also let my mind race. I wasn’t wearing my street clothes that I had on when I was recaptured, instead it just felt like a singlet and some light pants. What had they done with my clothes? Had they burnt them? Or maybe they were keeping them in a store room somewhere to give to me the next time the Ghost needed to go undercover. Why waste good clothes, right?_ _

__

__I tried very hard not to think about the fact that that meant at some point when I was unconscious, someone had stripped me, someone had pulled these clothes on my lifeless body. I tried very hard not to think about how they could have done _anything_ to me when I was out. Anything they wanted._ _

__

__Had they found our apartment and trashed that too? What had they done to Miheala and her six cats, who gave us the first alcohol we had ever drank for fun? Who’s only crime was that we happened to live next door to her?_ _

__

__Cold, stomach sinking dread enveloped my whole body and all my thoughts. The dread of _what comes next?_ The knowledge that this was just the build up, the prologue to the main act. The knowledge that they could break and twist and _remove_ my memories. The knowledge that I was just a play thing to them now. _ _

__

__The fear of what happened to James and Natalia. The fear that they’re _not_ dead. The fear that they were being broken, like me. The fear that they’ve got it worse than just lying on a cold table. _ _

__

__Hydra still needed James to be functional, to be the _Winter Soldier_ , but the Red Room had so many Widows that they didn’t need Natalia. They could twist her legs and drug her up and break her mind as an example for the other girls. An example for Lada, for Yelena and Polina. Natalia could become the ghost story little girls whispered to each other from handcuffed beds. _Don’t escape or you’ll end up like her.__ _

__

__It was like those two days of freedom didn’t even happen, it was like we didn’t even escape, because I just ended right back where I started._ _

__

___No. It still mattered. It had to matter._ _ _

__

__And then there was a metallic _thunk-click_ , and the quiet whir of machinery being started up._ _

__

__The table underneath me started warming. I could barely notice it at first, notice the cold chill slowly disappearing from my shoulders and legs. It was nice, at first. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out their endgame._ _

__

__I could feel the dried blood next to me curling and cracking on my leg. My flesh started to get uncomfortably hot, sticking to the metal table. The scientists began making intrigued noises, like I was a rat they were watching shriek and writhe and die._ _

__

__The hum of the machine got louder. The table gradually, oh so gradually, got hotter and hotter and hotter. So hot my flesh started to sizzle, so hot that I started making this pathetic groaning sound as vocal cords pushed out a scream that wouldn’t make it past immobile teeth._ _

__

__My skin _burned_. Everything fell away, the scientists, the facility, who I was._ _

__

__It was just pain pain _pain pain pain.__ _

__

__I couldn’t tell you how long I lay there, burning on the table. Just praying for when they’d give me a third degree burn so I didn’t have to feel my nerve endings frying anymore._ _

__

__Disgustingly _thankful_ that the substance that kept me paralysed was keeping me from begging the Hydra scientist to just please turn it off _please oh god oh god please turn it off I’m sorry I’m sorry turn it off-__ _

__

__And then, when I could finally think clearly, I realised the heat was lessening. Slowly, _infuriatingly_ slowly. The table was cooling down, soothing against my skin. I tried to think of Bucharest, of stealing little trinkets at the market and trying weird foods. But it was like those thoughts, those memories, couldn’t even exist inside this facility. Like Hydra could just suck any good memory right out of me, without even injecting me with anything._ _

__

__It was just being in this _place._ I had only been here for a few hours, but I could already feel myself slipping into the _Ghost_ mindset. Analysing threats, finding weaknesses, waiting for my next mission. Fingers twitching for something to train with, for a mission to plan._ _

__

__Somewhere a tiny part of me risked to hope that maybe Hydra had become better while I was at the Red Room. Maybe they had seen what their sister organisation was like, giving their agents some semblance of _free will_ , of choice, of power. That maybe working for Hydra again wouldn’t be _that bad_._ _

__

__But thats not how it worked. Organisations like Hydra didn’t change their entire ideology of _control_ and _bringing order to a chaotic world_ in two short years. Especially not after they’d seen what _choice_ can do to their best assets. We chose to run away. We chose to desert._ _

__

__Because before the table had finished cooling, before I could even take a _breath_ , I felt the tell tale prick of a cold needle. And then the only thing I could was wait. Wait for whatever drug they gave me to take effect, wait for the effects to pass, wait for the torture to end._ _

__

__It felt like someone had tied weights to my consciousness and was _pulling_ me down, down, down. Deep into this thick, pressing darkness, smothering my mouth, my eyes, my nose. Smothering my stab wound until I couldn’t feel anything. Not the burn of my back, not the cold of the table, not the pulsing pain from my leg, not the fabric of my clothing. _ _

__

__And then the weights dropped away and I was free falling. Spiralling into this never ending black hole of terrifying nothingness, past flashes of dark wooden bookshelves and stolen red books, silver skates on piercing white ice, the smack of skin on skin in training rooms and blood running into red hair, shared cake crumbs on the deep green carpeted stairs with Lada, Yelena and Polina. Missions and slaughter and fire and _screams.__ _

__

__A flash of James, Subject 3255, the Winter Soldier, Yasha, sitting in the Chair for the _first_ time. A snapshot of a yellow file with the name Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes stamped in black at the top. Typed words spelling out _childhood friend and fighting partner of Captain America, AKA Steve Rogers.__ _

__

__His Mystery Man._ _

__

__My muscles felt more relaxed than they had in _decades_ and my heart rate felt dangerously low, thoughts slowing down, swirling in circles around each other like shower water whirl-pooling down a drain. The quiet _glug_ of water in pipes, water tickling through my hands, thoughts slipping through my fingers. Then the shower turned off. The water stopped whirling._ _

__

__And, just for a second, there was _nothing_._ _

__

__Absolutely nothing._ _

__

__Then, I felt another prick I would later realise was another injection, and I was _jerked_ upwards. Coming screaming and gasping back into awareness, eyes flying open for the first time since I was in a Romanian market and shot myself in the face._ _

__

__The light _burned_ , everything burned, and I could feel every point of contact between my skin and the table, my skin and the clothes I wore. Every single follicle of hair moving in all different directions as I shifted on the table. My scabbed skin flaking and rubbing against each other. The cold air drifting into the hole in my skin, chilling my insides. All my muscles and all my tendons and all my bones shifting and groaning and sliding against each other inside me. Every pin prick of pain from my back, my arms, my legs. _ _

__

__My head was still spinning from the contrast, from being so deep and so _peaceful_ and then suddenly feeling _everything_ , the spinning electrons in my atoms in my cells in my blood in my muscles in my body. But I could still feel the blank nothingness calling me back, feel myself being _pulled_ down and _jerked_ up all at once. I was being pulled in half, somehow able be in that warm wash of emptiness and see every molecule spinning in the air on the doctors face on the stained grey stone walls._ _

__

__Which left me wheezing and gasping, heart pounding and roaring in my ears, sweat dripping, dripping into my hair, my eyes, the burns on my back, adrenaline pumping, sending liquid acid flying through my veins._ _

__

__But I was _exhausted_. From everything. From running in Romania, from pressing that gun under my chin and pulling the trigger, from lying on a table and being burned alive. From whatever _this_ was._ _

__

__Some indistinguishable voice started echoing, ‘Anastasia, do want this to stop? Anastasia listen to me.’ A disembodied hand slapped my cheek, sending my vision pinwheeling to the side. I stared at a white coat with silver buttons, those words still bouncing around my head, refusing to arrange themselves in an order that made any sense._ _

__

__I think I was sobbing. Or begging. Or praying._ _

__

__But I don’t know who I was praying to. Not God, pretty sure even if I believed in him he wouldn’t answer me. Maybe I was praying to James and Natalia. Maybe I was pleading like Subject 3255, like James, when he first came to Hydra. Pleading that a hero like Captain America could come in and make all of this stop._ _

__

__I just wanted it to end. All of it. But I tried the easy way out and it _didn’t work_. And now there was nothing more I could do. _ _

__

__‘Ok Anastasia, I think we’ve made our point.’_ _

__

__That voice, again. Slippery and thin, spouting disconnected syllables that didn’t really mean anything. Not to me, not when I felt like I was simultaneously swimming through a raging sea and drowning in a calm one._ _

__

__And then it was like all the weights dropped off, sending me spinning, hurtling, rocketing towards awareness and plummeting back into my body, like two halves of myself suddenly snapped back together to form one._ _

__

__I coughed and spluttered and inhaled the acrid stench of vomit and piss and shit. I was sweat slicked and sticky and hot, and there was crusty vomit slowly drying on my chin, my neck, my shirt. They must have flushed my system, to get the affects to stop that quickly._ _

__

__Some of the lower scientists were snickering, _laughing_ at me, lying on this table in my own sweat and blood and shit and piss and vomit. But hey, they had to deal with the stench too. _ _

__

__Head Scientist lent over me again, coming so close to my face that I could count the hairs in his nose and smell the eggs on his breath, smirking as I thrashed against the metal bars holding me in place. He was white, with greasy black hair combed back over a bald spot, his skin oily and shining in the artificial lights that were bearing down on me._ _

__

__‘I don’t think you quite understand the ramifications of your little exploration into the big bad world.’ he said, trailing a deathly cold silver scalpel lightly over my vomit-crusted neck, my shoulders, my chest._ _

__

__My only response was a quiet hiss as he dug the scalpel in a little harder over my stab wound on my arm. I didn’t know what his end goal was, whether he wanted me to snark and spit and fight back or be apologetic, the perfect little asset coming straight back to Hydra with my tail between my legs._ _

__

__‘You’ve ruined a very long term, and mutually beneficial, relationship with a well respected espionage agency. Your teaching was so inept that one of your star students decided to run away with you. And you corrupted and stole our best asset and forced him to go on this little adventure with you.’_ _

__

__At that, I couldn’t help but burst out a laugh. They were seriously going to pin this whole thing on me? Even though I almost reported them both to Madame B and Hydra when I learnt of their plan. Even though it wasn’t _even my idea in the first place_._ _

__

__But if they truly believed it was all my planning, all my idea, then they were going to punish me so much worse. And I didn’t want that, I really didn’t want that. Because I could barely take this, and they were just getting started. They hadn’t even begun the recalibration._ _

__

___Recalibration_. Like I was a machine that needed a tune up, instead of a human being._ _

__

__‘That’s complete _bullshit_ and you all know it,’ I spat so venomously that I think Oily Head Scientist actually shifted back slightly, ‘so stop fucking around! If you’re gonna torture me, torture me. But don’t lob your accusations around as a way to justify it!’_ _

__

__The three other Lab Coats looked at him for some sort of guidance, but he just smiled his sickly sweet smile again, and put the scalpel down. I hated him. Hated that condescending smile and smirk and knowing look, like I was just playing right into a script he had wrote._ _

__

__I was going to do this to _him_ one day. One day he would be the one strapped down and powerless, the one constantly knowing that this is going to get worse this is going to get worse, the one waiting for the other shoe to drop._ _

__

__One day _I_ would inject _him_ with unknown substances, and watch _him_ twist and scream and piss and shit himself. I would watch _him _be in that horrible state of _everything_ and _nothing_.___ _

__

____But that day was not today._ _ _ _

__

____‘Well thats interesting, because our delightful new asset has informed us that it was _you_ who made him start to remember.’ _ _ _ _

__

____Me and James yelling at each other in a Red Room training room, both desperately trying to grasp what we had forgotten. Both of us realising how much _power_ Hydra had over us, over our minds, over our memories. But he was starting to remember anyway. All I did was speed up the process. I didn’t _make_ him want to leave. Hydra did that on their own._ _ _ _

__

____‘Told us that you _made_ him leave.’ _ _ _ _

__

____No. No he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t _lie_. Not to them. Not when he knows what they would do to me because of that. _ _ _ _

__

____Would he?_ _ _ _

__

____‘Told us it was _your _plan to steal that Widow from the transport truck, the transport that was taking her to a graduation ceremony.’___ _ _ _

__

______It had been my plan. He wasn’t lying about that. So if he was telling the truth about _that,_ maybe the rest of it was true too. Maybe James had turned on us that quickly._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Turned on _me.__ _ _ _ _ _

__

______But I didn’t think so. Not after I helped him remember who he was, not after we went ice skating in the park, not after I watched him get yelled at by a Romanian stall owner who caught him stealing, not after we got drunk and he told me how he taught his sister to dance. Not after that._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______But the problem with being _free_ , with allowing myself to feel, was that I had lost the ability to trust that my reasoning was logical, was correct._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Because I didn’t know if this was just wishful thinking, thoughts deluded by hope or not._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

__

______It was sickening how _familiar_ this routine was. How even after those two shining days of freedom and a year and a half at the Red Room, I could still so easily slip into the routine of Hydra._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______How I could predict down to the _minute_ when they’d get bored of this torture routine for the day, peel me off that table and hose me down with water that was so cold it _burnt_. They didn’t give me clean clothes, I was still wearing the singlet and pants they had put me in, but the water blasted away the blood and vomit crusted to my skin._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______And then they threw me into a cell._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______My face was pressed against the pale, smooth stone floor. I couldn’t be bothered to get up, to retain some sense of dignity._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______But it turns out I didn’t need to, because the guards quickly followed me in there, grabbing me by my wrists and hauling me up so I was eye height with them, my toes just barely brushing the floor as they slammed me into the concrete wall at the back of the cell._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Given the soldiers were taking pretty much all my weight anyway, I didn’t think twice as I lifted my legs, cracking the scab which had formed on my thigh, and slammed both my heels into the closest guards crotch. He doubled over, gasping, and it quickly went to absolute chaos._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______We were all in such close quarters that the fact that there was a round six guards actually made it worse for them, instead of better, as they all got in each others way trying to figure out what the hell was going on. But they would recover soon, and I couldn’t let that happen._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______I jerked my head forward to break a guards nose, and kicked the ribs in of one of the guards who was still holding my wrist. I dropped to avoid a punch aimed for my face, throwing my elbows at ankles and knees to try and bring them down._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Shit. Now they could kick me, with their steel toed boots._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______So I scrambled up again and kept fighting, eyes fixed on the open cell door that seemed so far away now._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______I knew this wouldn’t do anything in the long run, I knew I was still going to end up on that wall, one way or another. But like I said before, I had absolutely no intention of being a meek little asset, ready to get brainwashed all over again._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______My only vague plan was if I could get back to the torture room again, maybe they had left a knife or something out on a table I could use to gut as many guys as I could._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Unfortunately, these soldiers knew what they were doing, so it wasn’t long until I was down again, head spinning and ears ringing from where my head had been slammed into the stone wall. One guy with a black eye and a very pissed off expression hauled me up by my hair and pushed me into the back wall again._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______I was too dizzy and too exhausted to try throwing any punches, but I lashed out with my nails on his face, clawing over his eyes and nose and mouth and watching through blurred vision as red lines were raked over his cheeks and eyes and lips._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______He yelled out, said something like ‘I need some back up here, now!’ and suddenly there were thick hands all over my arms and heavy weights on my body, keeping me pinned as thick metal chains were fixed over both my wrists, then my ankles._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Given I couldn’t scratch or kick or elbow anyone, I took to hurling verbal abuse at them. Every single insult I had heard Hydra agents, Targets, Witnesses, the girls at the Red Room, James Barnes when he first came into that Hydra facility, I screamed it at them, spit flying from my lips._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______I only stopped when one of them hit me hard enough to knock me straight out._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

__

______My whole body was throbbing. My stab wound in my thigh itched as it healed, the back of my head pounded, and I’m pretty sure one of my ribs was broken. There was no one in the cell anymore, but the smears of blood on the walls at least told me that the fight had happened._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Because that was another risk, another fear with Hydra. I never knew what they were injecting me with, song never knew how long the affects would last. For all I knew, I could still be on the table. But I couldn’t afford to think like that. I had to trust that this was actually happening, that I was awake, otherwise I would start spiralling._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______The cell was all smooth, light grey concrete. Nothing I could sharpen or mould to make a weapon. Even the door was just solid concrete, with a tiny viewing window that could be opened and closed. From the outside obviously._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______But it was bright, with a lot of artificial white light coming from somewhere, even though I couldn’t see any bulbs or sky lights or anything._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______And my shoulders ached. And thats when I finally took the time to look at what position I was in. My arms were shackled separately above my head, just high enough that I could touch the floor with my toes, but still have to bear most of my weight with my arms and shoulders._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Which was fine. I had been caught leaving an assassination once, in Japan I think, but I had been shackled up just like this for weeks as they interrogated me. I hadn’t said anything, didn’t even scream or yell as they tortured me. I just wanted until they slipped up and I could escape, and then I killed them all._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Besides, the torture they had done was _nothing_ compared to what Hydra did to me when I returned. Hydra was smart, they taught me to withstand every single method of torture except their own. I don’t think it was even possible to withstand the Chair._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Dammit. I had been trying not to think about _that. _Because I knew that was coming, I knew that was how they were going to turn me back into Ghost.___ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Motivation meant a _lot_ when withstanding torture. For the Ghost, it was loyalty to the mission, an inability to disobey order and a healthy dose of fear of what Hydra would do to me if I gave away their secrets. For James, it was hope that he would be rescued, that _Captain America_ would swoop in and save him, which of course they then could use against him. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I wasn’t there when they told him he had killed himself, but I heard Zola bragging about it in the base. Saying that _just as I predicted, after we told him about the Captain he wanted to forget.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Right now, my motivation was my own stubbornness, and a desire to be as much of a pain in the ass to these Hydra scientists as possible. It was payback, minuscule compared to what they had done to me, but it made me feel good all the same._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I shifted slightly, the chains cutting deep into my wrists. From my angle I couldn’t actually see them, but I could feel that the skin was rubbed raw, and the slight wetness I felt meant that it was bleeding slightly. Unfortunately my healing factor was too good to just let me bleed out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Because that was the truth. Me dying, right now in my cell, would be the best outcome. No Ghost, no brainwashing, no torture. Even if they couldn’t turn me back into a cold hearted assassin again, they would still punish me, probably drug me up some more. Beat me. Do everything _but_ kill me._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Being strung up alone in a cell, much like being immobilised on a table, gave me way too much time to think. James was probably at a different facility, they definitely aren’t going to let us see each other ever again. I highly doubt that even Ghost and the Winter Soldier will be working missions together any time soon either. But they would keep him alive, just like they will keep me alive._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Natalia might be dead. I hope that she is._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Hours passed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I was also exhausted. We had all been so on edge in Bucharest, yes we had enjoyed ourselves, but two days living as a civilian didn’t outrank decades of being an assassin. But it was also exciting and thrilling and we had talked _so much_ to so many people, and I wasn’t used to it. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Then there was the adrenaline of the capture, and the fear and anger and the torture that had been keeping me awake so far in the facility._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________But now, it was all catching up to me. Maybe I could take a nap._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________But my shoulders were _really_ killing me now, and my toes ached from stretching as I tried to take some of my weight off my arms. It was a position that was very uncomfortable to breathe in as well, so I had to take little gasping breaths of air instead of just breathing normally._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________But as the fourth hour of me being strung up passed, I felt myself slowly begin drift off to sleep, head nodding as I kept losing snatches of time in micro sleeps. My eyelids kept closing on their own._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Until three guards quickly burst in the room, the echo of their heavy boots slapping against the concrete and jerking me back into awareness again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________‘Oh you wanna go another round?’ I said, even though I really did _not_ want to go another round at _all_. They didn’t say anything in return which wasn’t exactly unexpected, and one of them lifted up a long black device I was pretty sure was cattle prod this is going to be _so painful-__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Every single muscle in my body locked up and the only reason I didn’t scream was because my teeth were clenched so hard I don’t think I could make a sound even if I wanted to. The electricity _burned_ up and down my body and just _kept going._ The sick sound of buzzing filled the air and reminded me way too much of the Chair and oh god _oh god oh god.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Finally it stopped, and my wrists and shoulders screamed some more as I slumped forward, breathing hard with sweat dripping down my face. I looked up at the guards and without sparing a single thought of what they could do to me, what they _just did_ to me, I spat right in the closest guys face._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________He jerked back, and I watched as he very slowly and deliberately lifted a black gloved hand to wipe the spit off his cheek and lip. He smiled, a slow, dark smile that made me cold all the way down to my _bones.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________But he didn’t lift the cattle prod, instead he gave it to one of the guys standing behind him. I expected him to yell, maybe use my body as a punching bag to work off some aggression or to prove his masculinity on. But he didn’t._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Instead, he very slowly and very pointedly raked his eyes over my body. Over my arms that were shaking slightly with a combination of the strain of having to hold my weight for so long and an aftermath of the electricity, over my throat that was shining with sweat, eyes sliding down and lingering on my chest, sweeping over my ribs and staring at the strip of skin that was visible between my singlet and my pants._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________His gaze was hot and dark and heavy, and suddenly I didn’t feel as confident as I was when they first came in the room. I wanted his gaze _off_ me, it was like ants crawling all over my skin that I wanted to peel off with a knife. Suddenly I was very aware of how vulnerable I was, strung up to the wall like this in a threadbare singlet and thin pants._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Suddenly I felt very, very small. Not like a feared Hydra assassin, not like an instructor at the Red Room. My throat was dry and there was a thick presence in the room with us, the knowledge of what exactly he could do to me right in that moment weighting the air._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________But then he stepped back, and I breathed out slightly. He looked at me in the eyes, making sure I had got the message before him and the other guards left the room._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I felt sick. And very, _very_ exposed. Like a butterfly pinned by its wings, being studied and poked and prodded and observed, which is just a nice word for _stared at_._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I felt about as powerful as butterfly as well. And it was even worse because in the Red Room I got a taste. A taste of what it felt to control other people instead of just being controlled._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I was so tired._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________But now I was too on edge to sleep, too afraid leave myself that vulnerable. But I was so, _so_ tired. Almost falling asleep in my chains before the guards came in. I let my body sag back into that position, trying to ignore the way the chains pulled on my skin, the way the pain radiated from my wrists down my arms in spikes of heat and stinging pins and needles. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________My thoughts felt muggy, and my head drooped a little further. Eyes closed. Then ice cold water hit my body and I gasped, adrenaline ran through my body like acid and my eyes flew open again. The torrent was strong and it pushed my body back against the wall slightly. I have no idea where it had come from, but the second the water died down, I knew their game._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Sleep deprivation._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Strangely enough, I felt slightly calmer. I knew what was coming, I knew their tactics. Of course I couldn’t change or stop anything that was about to happen to me, but I felt slightly more in control. At some point the lights in the room would probably become blinding, they would start blasting music or just _noise_ in general. They would drop the temperature in the room. They would probably spray me with water multiple times over again to keep me awake._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________And they did._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I don’t know how long they kept me awake for. Only that it was a long, long time._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________They started out blasting white noise so loud it felt like my ears were going to burst, but that quickly changed. They started playing recordings of Zola’s voice. It sounded like the verbal notes I’d sometimes heard him make when I was in the Lab, and it took me much too long to realise thats exactly what it was._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Like some sick version of a bed time story, they were playing recordings of him _studying_ me, and sometimes in the background I could hear a very high pitched voice that I quickly realised was myself, screaming as they flayed me alive to see how long it would take for me to heal. I dont know how old I was in this particular recording, but I knew they had been doing that to me for a long, _long_ time._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________My limbs shook with the combination of a cold room and my soaked clothes, fingers sore and red from the cold. Listening to a younger version of me scream her lungs out, a reminder of how long we had been playing this game for, and a threat of what was to come._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________My eyelids felt like they had weights tied to them, dragging them down over my eyeballs no matter how hard I tried to keep them awake. Because when my eyes were shut thats when the room would get colder, thats when the noise would be louder, thats when the water would blast me or soldiers would come in and beat me awake with their batons or-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Time felt fuzzy, and everything outside of this moment, everything outside this godforsaken room, felt like a dream. Felt like something I had made up. But it _wasn’t_. I had gone to Bucharest with the Soldier and- _with James and Nat,_ and we had tried new foods and we had gone ice skating and we had gone to the library. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Right?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________***_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I was still strung up, eyes half lidded in a useless attempt to at least _look_ like I was still awake, when I felt gloved hands grab me by my elbows, and the feeling of metal rubbing on my raw wrists stopped as I slumped into the hands holding me up._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________The guards must be back, and they were letting me down. For some reason._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________My shoulders ached. Being in the same position had turned them numb at some point, but now a groan slipped from my mouth as the guards manoeuvred my arms over their necks. My bare feet scraped against the rough cold floor as they dragged me._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I had no idea where we were going, and I couldn’t really find it in myself to care._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________We stopped._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________My arms got lifted off the guards necks, and my knees crumpled like tissue paper when I tried to stand by myself._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I heard a sigh of exasperation, and someone say ‘Hold her up please.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________The voice was vaguely familiar, and I was about 90% sure it was the same Oily Head Scientist as before. I _hated_ him. And that was a good sign, if I could still _hate_ , if I could still feel that anger burning through my veins whenever I thought about him, it meant I was still me. They hadn’t broken me yet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Gloved hands were grabbing me again, on my arms holding me upright. My right arm was jerked out, forearm to the sky, and I felt a wet cotton ball brush over my skin. I had only just put together that it meant I was about to me injected with something _again_ before I was feeling the sickeningly familiar cold of a needle sinking into my skin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I was just resigned now._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________But the drug didn’t seem to be doing anything. I wasn’t in extreme pain, I wasn’t seizing. It didn’t feel burning cold or impossibly hot. It just felt like, nothing. I could feel my heartbeat slowing down, blood quieting in my ears. Was this _relief?_ Was I actually relieved that the mysterious substance I had been injected with wasn’t having any short term effects?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________But hey, silver lining and all that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________In fact, I actually felt _better._ The seemingly inescapable grogginess I had been feeling ever since they first strung me up in that room has been swept away. My shoulders weren’t aching, I couldn’t feel the bruises on my body anymore. The wrists that were covered in blood and scabs from the metal didn’t hurt. Everything felt solid again, felt _real_. It wasn’t a struggle to keep my eyes open again, and I finally felt conscious again. I felt _calm_._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Compliant._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________This isn’t relief._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________But it felt _nice_. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself, but he was _right._ It was so hard, making all those decisions in Romania. What to eat, what to order. What to say to market sellers, to the ice skate rental. The old man we rented the apartment from. Even to James, when for _decades_ I’d only thought of him as Subject 3255, the Winter Soldier._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________The guards let go of my arms, leaving me just standing in the middle of the lab. Everything felt muffled, like someone had glued cotton balls all over my body and everything was soft. All the hard edges were smoothed away. Why did I care so much about what happened to the Soldier and the Widow? They weren’t my problem, what happened to them didn’t affect me._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________The scientist snapped his fingers and I didn’t even think, just immediately lifted my gaze to look at his. Like a reflex. A flinch you can’t control. I felt disconnected, three feet above my body._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________‘Ghost.’ He said, voice coming through my ears and bouncing around my skull, clearing it of any thoughts except listening to him. Nothing else was important except what he had to say. ‘I need you to listen to what I’m about to say.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I felt empty. Hollowed out. I felt like if I didn’t have something anchor me, something like his voice, then I would just float away into space._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________So of course I would. Desperation clawed inside me, I _needed_ something to hear, something to focus on. Something to fill the hollow in my brain. He opened a red book, with a black star on the front cover. Russian slipped from his mouth like a broken dam, rushing over everything, enveloping me so all I could see and hear were those _words_. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________‘Cracked.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________‘Potential.'_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________He said the words slowly, rolling each syllable around his tongue before allowing it to escape his mouth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________‘Rain.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________As he spoke I didn’t feel any different, but I let those words slip into my brain all the same, let them expand to fill the space in my mind._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________‘Hourglass.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________‘Grief.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________It was soothing. The animal called Desperation inside me, the animal with thick claws and hunger was finally being sated. My mind didn’t feel empty. The words filled up my body, my brain, tethered me. Tied me here-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________’Twelve.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________-tied me to _him_. Wait. Stop. I don’t like this._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________’Mirror.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I don’t _want_ this. I don’t want to be tied to _him-__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________’Golden.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I don’t want to be _forced_ to do what he wants. _No no no no no stop stop stop stop__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________‘Pure.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________Get out of my head get out of my head get the words OUT OF MY HEAD_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________‘Midnig-‘_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________My arms felt like they were moving through jelly, like there were invisible hands grabbing at my arms, trying to stop me moving. I still managed to put them over my ears and I screamed. And it cleared the air. It cleared my brain, not the terrifying emptiness of before, but cleared it so I could _think.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________And I thought that right now I wanted to rip out that scientists _throat_. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I lunged for him, fingers braced like claws ready to sink into the soft flesh of his face, his eyes, his throat. I didn’t get very far, the two guards who had brought me back into the lab caught me, and I was still slow from sleep deprivation._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I struggled pathetically, throwing any ideas of _tactics_ out the window as rage blasted away any rational thought from my head. And I had to be angry, because I knew the second I stopped being angry, the fear would paralyse me. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Because _what the hell was that?_ What were those _words_ he was saying? Why did it make me so _malleable,_ I felt ready to do anything he wanted, anything anybody told me to do. Those words, felt like they were _erasing_ me, erasing my thoughts, my memories, my emotions. Distancing myself from my body. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Oily Head Scientist was laughing. At me. At my pathetic attempts to get out of the guards grasp and tear his face off. How must I look to him? Caked in blood, eyes probably bloodshot, skin pale. A sickly little girl throwing a tantrum because she couldn’t get her way._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________It just made me more pissed off._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Abruptly, he stopped laughing. And it was like all the energy in my body, all the anger, just drained out of me. I slumped again, forcing the guards to hold me up as my head starting spinning._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________‘That kind of behaviour will _not_ be tolerated from one of our Assets, is that understood?’ He stated, arms behind his back and looking at me and was that _disappointment_ on his face?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I snarled in response, but it did nothing to stop the small surge of fear I felt, fear of disappointing him, of proving him right. And suddenly I was _disgusted_ with myself, because why should I care if I make him disappointed? I should _want_ to disappoint him, because as long as I was doing that, I wasn’t becoming their asset again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Which made me think of James. What were they doing to him now? Had they read him the same words? Made him feel that same emptiness, the same feeling of being untethered, of being so _reliant_ on the words otherwise he would drift away from his body and never come back?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Or had he just…given up? Resigned himself to being the Winter Soldier, the Asset. Given up because it was so much _easier_ than resisting. Because compliance will be rewarded. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________And I was so _tired.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________‘Put her in the Chair.’ I snapped my head up and saw Oily Head Scientist studying my face intently, eyes narrowed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Before I could think to react, the guards were dragging me off to the far side of the room where through the darkness, I could see shining metal. Then someone turned on the lights and I was staring right at the machine which I had first seen the Soldier in. The machine which I had been put in once and had vowed to myself that I would never experience again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________That was with Zola. I wondered, vaguely, what had happened to him. He was never a Handler, but usually I would see him in the labs when I was sent there pre and post missions for testing. But I hadn’t seen him in a while._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I realised I was sitting down, the metal restraints being fastened around my limbs. When had that happened? Had i just _let_ them push me into this thing, too stuck in my own head to do anything about it. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Oily Head Scientist pushed a rubber bit into my mouth, and I let him. It was just because I didn’t really want to bite my own tongue off when they turned the Chair on, but it still felt like a defeat. Like I was already letting him win, like I was complying._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________The only warning I got was a nod from Oily Head Scientist to one of the lab coats manning the machine, and about half a second of groaning metal as the head piece latched onto my skull._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________And then I stopped thinking all together._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Someone had lit a fire _inside_ of my skull, my brain was frying and boiling and spitting and I couldn’t get enough air and this is how I die _please let me die please let me die please just let me die.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I jerked against the restraints and had no idea if it was because of the electricity or the desperate instinct to get away from the Chair, to run far and fast away from this _pain.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Eventually it stopped, the electric crackling that I hadn’t even registered quietening down, and there was another groan as the metal against my skull was lifted again. I spat out the rubber bit and gasped, cool air rushing into my lungs. The metal clamps burst open and the world span, black dots dancing in my vision as I sat up. I leaned over the side of the chair and spat again, trying to cough up vomit and gasp in air at the same time, choking._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________It took me too long to reorientate myself. Too long to realise that I was in a Hydra facility, too long to see Oily Head Scientist staring at me, examining my expressions. Too long to quickly hide the confusion and momentary terror I felt at not knowing where I was._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________‘Do you regret what you three did in Bucharest?’ He asked, staring right into my eyes and right into my _brain_ , flaying apart my thoughts and feelings and memories._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I choked up and spat out some more vomit, but this time aimed it at his face. It fell pitifully short but still managed to splatter a little on his perfectly shined black shoes, small flecks of bile on the toes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I wasn’t in control, and I wasn’t going to win this, but his question let me know the game we were playing. They weren’t using the Chair to make me forget, not yet. It was just being used to torture. I could handle that. It would be horrible and painful, but I could do it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________So I just looked at him right in the eyes and said, _‘Fuck you.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________He studied my face again, sighed, and waved to the scientists and guards to put me back in again. I glared at him until they turned it back on, and then I was screaming._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________***_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________It wasn’t working. They would pull me out, he would ask me the same question, I would have the same reply, and they would put me back in._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________It was clear that they were getting impatient. But I had resolved to never give a different answer, so much so that I was saying _fuck you_ before they’d even fully pulled me out of the machine. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I was feeling slightly smug. They thought I was going to break, that I was going to come out of the machine crying and saying of course I regretted escaping Hydra, of course I regretted _living_ and having choice for the first time in my life. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________They would have to leave me in this machine for _years_ before I felt like that, and years more before I _told_ them. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Because how could I? How I could I regret walking in the gardens and ice skating on a lake? How could I regret trying new foods at a market?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Not when those had been the best few days of my life._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________At some point I stopped being able to scream. At some point when they pulled me out of that chair, limbs shaking and choking up bile, I couldn’t even sit up. I couldn’t look him in the eyes, and when I tried to speak all that cracked out of my throat was a hoarse whine, barely audible over the sound of the machine powering down again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________My ears were ringing with the sound of crackling electricity and my own screams, and my eyes were closed. So when the restraints were undone and I was picked up by the guards I went willingly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I passed out before they could get me out the Chair._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I woke up, briefly. Bone deep training kept me from opening my eyes until I was aware of my surroundings, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that I was back in my cell, sprawled on the floor right in the centre._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I groaned, rolled over onto my side to give my back a break from the hard stone floor, and passed back out again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________***_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________When I woke back up again, I felt more alert. I took proper inventory of myself for the first time since being captured, and it wasn’t pretty. My stab wound in my thigh had closed, and there was a scab surrounded by pink skin in its place. My body was still exhausted, I had no idea how long they had kept me awake for, but one quick sleep wasn’t going to fix that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________When I sat up, my head spun and my arms shook. I don’t remember eating anything since I was captured, but I'd been in and out the Chair enough that I knew not to trust my own memories. Either way, I was starving._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________Even as I thought that, a hatch I didn’t notice before was opened and a metal tray was skidded across the floor towards me. The hatch shut again with a _bang_._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________I knew it might be drugged, but I couldn’t exactly refuse the food. They would find some way to cram it into me one way or another. Hydra couldn’t have one of its assets dying of _starvation_ , that would just be embarrassing. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________The food, unsurprisingly, was horrible. It was just a grey slab, so dry it felt like it was sticking to my throat as I swallowed. There was water too, but there was only enough for about two or three mouthfuls, and I had no idea how long they were planning on keeping me in here for._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________As I ate, I thought about that market, where I had finally been able to _choose_ what I ate. Where I finally found out exactly what food I liked and what food I hated. This slab was _nothing_ like what I had eaten there-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________What had I eaten? ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________I couldn’t remember._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________Oh _shit_._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ummm. im sorry??
> 
> as always, constructive criticism is always welcome.
> 
> yourkudosandcommentsrestoremywilltolivepleaseandthankyou

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty! Welcome to whatever the hell this is! CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM regarding phrasing or formatting or whatever is welcomed!!


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